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LOSS  AND   GAIN 


OB, 


THE    STORY   OP   A    CONVERT 


By   JOHN    HENRY    NEWMAN.  M/ 


ADHUC  MODICUM  ALIQUANTULUM, 

QUI  VEKTURUS  EST,    VKXIET,  ET  NON  TARDABIT. 

JUSTUS  AUTEM  MEUS  EX  FIDE  VIVIT. 


SECOND     EDITION. 

BOSTON: 
PATRICK  DONAHOE, 

23   Franklin    Street. 
1855. 


oJbTON  COLLEGE  USRa^ 


^ 


fK 

£-10?- 
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ADVERTISEMENT, 


The  following  tale  is  not  intended  as  a  work  of  controversy 
in  behalf  of  the  Catholic  religion,  but  as  a  description  of  what  is 
understood  by  few,  —  the  course  of  thought  and  state  of  mind,  or 
rather  one  of  those  courses  and  states,  which  issue  in  conviction 
of  its  divine  origin. 

Nor  is  it  founded  in  fact,  to  use  the  common  phrase.  It  is  not 
the  history  of  any  individual  mind  among  the  recent  converts  to  the 
Catholic  Church.  The  principal  characters  are  imaginary;  and  the 
writer  wishes  to  disclaim  personal  allusion  in  any.  It  is  with  this 
view  that  he  has  feigned  ecclesiastical  bodies  and  places,  to  avoid 
the  chance,  which  might  otherwise  occur,  of  unintentionally  sug- 
gesting to  the  reader  real  individuals,  who  were  far  from  his 
thoughts. 

At  the  same  time  free  use  has  been  made  of  sayings  and  doings 
which  are  characteristic  of  the  time  and  place  in  whichAti^  scene 
is  laid.     And,  moreover,  when  a  general  truth  or  fact  is  exhibited, 

(3)     •/ 


4    *  ADVERTISEMENT. 

as  in  a  tale,  in  individual  specimens  of  it,  it  is  impossible  that  the 
ideal  representation  should  not  more  or  less  coincide,  in  spite  of  the 
author's  endeavor,  with  its  existing  instances  or  champions. 

It  must  also  be  added,  to  prevent  a  further  misconception,  that 
no  proper  representative  is  intended  in  this  tale  of  the  religious 
opinions  which  had  lately  so  much  influence  in  the  University  of 
Oxford. 

February  21, 1848. 


LOSS  AND  GAIN. 


PART  I. 
CHAPTER    I. 


Charles  Reding  was  the  only  son  of  a  clergyman,  who  was 
in  possession  of  a  valuable  benefice  in  a  midland  county.  His 
father  intended  him  for  orders,  and  sent  him  at  a  proper  age  to 
a  public  school.  He  had  long  revolved  in  his  mind  the  respec- 
tive advantages  and  disadvantages  of  public  and  private  education, 
and  had  decided  in  favor  of  the  former.  "  Seclusion,"  he  said, 
"  is  no  security  for  virtue.  There  is  no  telling  what  is  in  a 
boy's  heart :  he  may  look  as  open  and  happy  as  usual,  and 
be  as  kind  and  attentive,  when  there  is  a  great  deal  wrong 
going  on  within.  The  heart  is  a  secret  with  its  Maker  ;  no  one 
on  Earth  can  hope  to  get  at  it  or  to  touch  it.  I  have  a  core  of 
souls  ;  what  do  I  really  know  of  my  parishioners  ?  nothing ; 
their  hearts  are  sealed  books  to  me.  And  this  dear  boy,  he 
comes  close  to  me  ;  he  throws  his  arms  round  me  ;  but  his  soul 
is  as  much  out  of  my  sight  as  if  he  were  at  the  antipodes.  I  am 
not  accusing  him  of  reserve,  dear  fellow ;  his  very  love  and 
reverence  for  me  keep  him  in  a  sort  of  charmed  solitude.  I  can- 
not expect  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  him : 

*  Each  in  his  hidden  sphere  of  bliss  or  woe, 
Owe  hermit  spirits  dwell.' 

It  is  our  lot  here  below.     No  one  on  Earth  can  know  Charles's 
secret  thoughts.     Did  I  guard  him  here  at  home  ever  so  well, 
yet,  in  due  time,  it  would  be  found  that  a  serpent  had  crept  into 
1*  (5) 


6  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

the  heart*  of  his  innocence.  Boys  do  not  fully  know  what  is 
good  and'what  is  evil ;  they  do  wrong  things  at  first  almost  in- 
nocently. Novelty  hides  vice  from  them  ;  there  is  no  one  to 
warn  them  or  give  them  rules  ;  and  they  become  slaves  of  sin, 
while  they  are  learning  what  sin  is.  They  go  to  the  University, 
and  suddenly  plunge  into  excesses,  the  greater  in  proportion  to 
their  inexperience.  And  besides  all  this,  I  am  not  equal  to  the 
task  of  forming  so  active  and  inquisitive  a  mind  as  his.  He  al- 
ready asks  questions  which  I  know  not  how  to  answer.  So  he 
shall  go  to  a  public  school.  There  he  will  get  discipline  at  least 
even  if  he  has  more  of  trial ;  at  least  he  will  gain  habits  of  self- 
command,  manliness,  and  circumspection  ;  he  will  learn  to  use 
his  eyes,  and  will  find  materials  to  use  them  upon  ;  and  thus  will 
be  gradually  trained  for  the  liberty  which,  any  how,  he  must 
have  when  he  goes  to  College." 

This  was  the  more  necessary,  because,  with  many  high  excel- 
lences, Charles  was  naturally  timid  and  retiring,  over-sensitive, 
and,  though  lively  and  cheerful,  yet  not  without  a  tinge  of  melan- 
choly in  his  character,  which  sometimes  degenerated  into  mawk- 
ishness. 

To  Eton,  then,  he  went ;  and  there  had  the  good  fortune  to 
fall  into  the  hands  of  an  excellent  tutor,  who,  while  he  instructed 
him  in  the  old  Church  of  England  principles  of  Mant  and  Doy- 
ley,  gave  his  mind  a  religious  impression,  which  secured  him 
against  the  allurements  of  bad  company,  whether  at  the  school 
itself,  or  afterwards  at  Oxford.  To  that  celebrated  seat  of  learn- 
ing he  was  in  due  time  transferred,  being  entered  at  St.  Savior's 
College  ;  and  he  is  in  his  sixth  term  from  matriculation,  and  his 
fourth  of  residence,  at  the  time  our  story  opens. 

At  Oxford,  it  is  needless  to  say,  he  had  found  a  great  number 
of  his  schoolfellows ;  but,  it  so  happened,  had  found  very  few 
friends  among  them.  Some  were  too  gay  for  him,  and  he  had 
avoided  them  ;  others  with  whom  he  had  been  intimate  at  Eton, 
having  high  connections,  had  fairly  cut  him  on  coming  into 
residence,  or,  being  entered  at  other  Colleges,  had  lost  sight  of 
him.  Almost  every  thing  depends  at  Oxford,  in  the  matter  of 
acquaintance,  on  proximity  of  rooms.  You  choose  your  friend, 
not  so  much  by  your  taste,  as  by  your  staircase.  There  is  a 
story  of  a  London  tradesman  who  lost  custom  after  beautifying 
his  premises,  because  his  entrance  went  up  a  step ;  and  we  all 
know  how  great  is  the  difference  between  open  and  shut  doora 


^^^^ 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  7 

when  we  walk  along  a  street  of  shops.  In  a  University,  a 
youth's  hours  are  portioned  out  to  him.  A  regular  man  gets  up 
and  goes  to  chapel,  breakfasts,  gets  up  his  lectures,  goes  to 
lecture,  walks,  dines ;  there  is  little  to  induce  him  to  mount  any 
staircase  but  his  own ;  and  if  he  does  so,  ten  to  one  he  finds  the 
friend  from  home  whom  he  is  seeking  ;  not  to  say  that  freshmen, 
who  naturally  have  common  feelings  and  interests,  as  naturally 
are  allotted  a  staircase  in  common.  And  thus  it  was  that 
Charles  Reding  was  brought  across  William  Sheffield,  who  had 
come  into  residence  the  same  term  as  himself. 

The  minds  of  young  people  are  pliable  and  elastic,  and  easily 
accommodate  themselves  to  any  one  they  fall  in  with.  They 
find  grounds  of  attraction  both  where  they  agree  with  one  another 
and  where  they  differ ;  what  is  congenial  to  themselves  creates 
sympathy  ;  what  is  correlative  or  supplemental  creates  admira- 
tion and  esteem.  And  what  is  thus  begun  is  often  continued 
in  afterlife  by  the  force  of  habit  and  the  claims  of  memory. 
Thus,  in  the  selection  of  friends,  chance  often  does  for  us  as 
much  as  the  most  careful  selection  could  have  effected.  What 
were  the  character  and  degree  of  that  friendship  which  sprang  up 
between  the  freshmen.  Reding  and  Sheffield,  we  need  not  here 
minutely  explain  :  it  will  be  enough  to  say,  that  what  they  had 
in  common  was  freshmanship,  good  talents,  and  the  back  stair- 
case, and  that  they  differed  in  this  :  that  Sheffield  had  lived  a 
good  deal  with  people  older  than  himself,  had  read  much  in  a 
desultory  way,  and  easily  picked  up  opinions  and  facts,  especially 
on  controversies  of  the  day,  without  laying  any  thing  very  much 
to  heart ;  that  he  was  ready,  clearsighted,  unembarrassed,  and 
somewhat  forward :  Charles,  on  the  other  hand,  had  little  knowl- 
edge as  yet  of  principles  or  their  bearings,  but  understood  more 
deeply  than  Sheffield,  and  held  more  practically  what  he  had 
once  received ;  he  was  gentle  and  affectionate,  and  easily  led  by 
others,  except  when  duty  clearly  interfered.  It  should  be  added, 
that  he  had  fallen  in  with  various  religious  denominations  in  his 
father's  parish,  and  had  a  general,  though  not  a  systematic,  knowl- 
edge of  their  tenets.  What  they  were  besides  will  be  seen  as 
our  narrative  advances. 


8^  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 


CHAPTER    II. 

It  was  a  little  past  one,  P.  M.,  when  Sheffield,  passing  Charles's 
door,  saw  it  open.  The  college  servant  had  just  entered  with 
the  usual  half  commons  for  luncheon,  and  was  employed  in 
making  up  the  fire.  Sheffield  followed  him  in,  and  found 
Charles  in  his  cap  and  gown,  lounging  on  the  arm  of  his  easy 
chair,  and  eating  his  bread  and  cheese.  Sheffield  asked  him  if 
he  slept,  as  well  as  ate  and  drank,  "  accoutred  as  he  was."  "  I 
am  just  going  for  a  turn  into  the  Meadow,"  said  Charles  ;  "this 
is  to  me  the  best  time  of  the  year  :  nunc  formosissimus  annus  ; 
every  thing  is  beautiful ;  the  laburnums  are  out,  and  the  may. 
There  is  a  greater  variety  of  trees  there  than  in  any  other  place 
I  know  hereabouts  ;  and  the  planes  are  so  touching  just  now, 
with  their  small  multitudinous  green  hands  half  opened  ;  and 
there  are  two  or  three  such  fine  dark  willows  stretching  over  the 
Cherwell ;  I  think  some  Dryad  inhabits  them  ;  and  as  you  wind 
along,  just  over  your  right  shoulder  is  the  Long  Walk,  with  the 
Oxford  buildings  seen  between  the  elms.  They  say  there  are 
dons  here  who  recollect  when  it  was  unbroken,  nay,  when  you 
might  walk  under  it  in  hard  rain,  and  get  no  wet.  I  know  I 
got  drenched  there  the  other  day." 

Sheffield  laughed,  and  said  that  Charles  must  put  on»liis  beaver, 
and  walk  with  him  a  different  way.  He  wanted  a  good  walk , 
his  head  was  stupid  from  his  lectures ;  that  old  Jennings  prosed 
so  awfully  upon  Paley,  it  made  him  quite  ill.  He  had  talked  of 
the  Apostles  as  neither  "  deceivers  nor  deceived,"  of  their 
"  sensible  miracles,"  and  of  their  "  dying  for  their  testimony," 
till  he  did  not  know  whether  he  himself  was  an  ens  physiologicum 
or  a  totum  inetaphysicum,  when  Jennings  had  cruelly  asked  him 
to  repeat  Paley's  argument ;  and  because  he  had  not  given  it  in 
Jennings's  words,  friend  Jennings  had  pursed  up  his  lips,  and 
gone  through  the  whole  again ;  so  intent  in  his  wooden  enthu- 
siasm, on  his  own  analysis  of  it,  that  he  did  not  hear  the  clock 
strike  the  hour  ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  men's  shuffling  their  feet, 
blowing  their  noses,  and  looking  at  their  watches,  on  he  had 
gone  for  a  good  twenty  minutes  past  the  time  ;  and  would  have 
been  going  on  even  then,  he  verily  believed,  but  for  an  interpo- 
sition only  equalled  by  that  of  the  geese  at  the  Capitol.  For 
that,  when    he  had  got  about    half  through  his    recapitulation, 


L0S3    AND    GAIN.  9 

and  was  stopping  at  the  end  of  a  sentence  to  see  the  impression 
he  was  making,  that  uncouth  fellow,  Lively,  moved  by  what 
happy  inspiration  he  did  not  know,  suddenly  broke  in,  apropos 
of  nothing,  nodding  his  head,  and  speaking  in  a  clear  cackle, 
with,  •'■  Pray,  sir,  what  is  your  opinion  of  the  infallibility  of  the 
Pope  ?  "  Upon  which  every  one  but  Jennings  did  laugh  out ; 
but  he,  au  co7itraire,  began  to  look  very  black  ;  and  no  one  can 
tell  what  would  have  happened,  had  he  not  cast  his  eyes  by 
accident  on  his  watch,  on  which  he  colored,  closed  his  book,  and 
instanter  sent  the  whole  lecture  out  of  the  room. 

Charles  laughed  in  his  turn,  but  added :  "  Yet,  I  assure  you, 
Sheffield,  that  Jennings,  stiff  and  cold  as  he  seems,  is,  I  do  believe, 
a  very  good  fellow  at  bottom.  He  has  before  now  spoken  to  me 
with  a  good  deal  of  feehng,  and  has  gone  out  of  his  way  to  do 
me  favors.  I  see  poor  bodies  coming  to  him  for  charity  contin- 
ually ;  and  they  say  that  his  sermons  at  Holy  Cross  are  excel- 
lent." Sheffield  said  he  liked  people  to  be  natural,  and  hated 
that  donnish  manner.  What  good  could  it  do  ?  and  what  did  it 
mean  ?  "  That  is  what  I  call  bigotry,"  answered  Charles  ;  "  I 
am  for  taking  every  one  for  what  he  is,  and  not  for  what  he  is  not : 
one  has  this  excellence,  another  that ;  no  one  is  every  thing. 
Why  should  we  not  drop  what  we  don't  like,  and  admire  what  we 
like  ?  This  is  the  only  way  of  getting  through  life,  the  only 
true  wisdom,  and  surely  our  duty  into  the  bargain."  Sheffield 
thought  this  regular  prose  and  unreal.  "  We  must,"  he  said, 
**  have  a  standard  of  things,  else  one  good  thing  is  as  good  as 
another.  But  I  can't  stand  here  all  day,"  he  continued,  "  when 
we  ought  to  be  walking."  And  he  took  off  Charles's  cap,  and 
placing  his  hat  on  him  instead,  said,  "  Come,  let  us  be  going." 
*'  Then  must  I  give  up  my  Meadow  ?  "  said  Charles.  "  Of  course 
you  must,"  answered  Sheffield ;  "  you  must  take  a  beaver  walk. 
I  want  you  to  go  as  far  as  Oxley,  a  village  some  little  way  out,  all 
the  vicars  of  which,  sooner  or  later,  are  made  Bishops.  Perhaps 
even  walking  there  may  do  us  some  good." 

The  friends  set  out,  from  hat  to  boot  in  the  most  approved  Oxford 
bandbox  cut  of  trimness  and  prettiness.  Sheffield  was  turning  into 
the  High  Street,  when  Reding  stopped  him  :  "  It  always  annoys 
me,"  he  said,  "  to  go  down  High  Street  in  a  beaver ;  one  is  sure 
to  meet  a  Proctor."  "  All  those  University  dresses  are  great 
fudge,"  answered  Sheffield  ;  "  how  are  we  the  better  for  them  ? 
they  are  mere  outside,  and  nothing  else.     Besides,  our  gown  is 


10  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

SO  hideously  ugly."  "  "Well,  I  don't  go  along  with  your  sweeping 
condemnation,"  answered  Charles  ;  "  this  is  a  great  place,  and 
should  have  a  dress.  I  declare,  when  I  first  saw  the  procession 
of  Heads  at  St.  Mary's,  it  was  quite  moving.  First  —  "  "  Of 
course  the  pokers,"  interrupted  Sheffield  —  "  First  the  organ  and 
every  one  rising ;  then  the  Vice  Chancellor  in  red,  and  his  bow 
to  the  preacher,  who  turns  to  the  pulpit ;  then  all  the  Heads  in 
order  ;  and  lastly  the  Proctors.  Meanwhile  you  see  the  head 
of  the  preacher  slowly  mounting  up  the  steps  ;  when  he  gets  in 
he  shuts  to  the  door,  looks  at  the  organ  loft  to  catch  the  psalm, 
and  the  voices  strike  up."  Sheffield  laughed,  and  then  said, 
"  Well,  I  confess  I  agree  with  you  in  your  instance.  The 
preacher  is,  or  is  supposed  to  be,  a  person  of  talent ;  he  is  about 
to  hold  forth  ;  the  divines,  the  students  of  a  great  University,  are 
all  there  to  listen.  The  pageant  does  but  fitly  represent  the  great 
moral  fact  which  is  before  us ;  I  understand  this.  I  don't  call 
this  fudge  ;  what  I  mean  by  fudge  is,  outside  without  inside. 
Now  I  must  say,  the  sermon  itself,  and  not  the  least  of  all  the 
prayer  before  it  —  what  do  they  call  it  ? "  "  The  bidding 
prayer,"  said  Reding.  "  Well,  both  sermon  and  prayer  are  often 
arrant  fudge.  I  don't  often  go  to  University  sermons,  but  I  have 
gone  often  enough  not  to  go  again  without  compulsion.  The 
last  preacher  I  heard  was  from  the  country.  O,  it  was  won- 
derful !  He  began  at  the  pitch  of  his  voice,  *  Ye  shall  pray.* 
What  stuff!  'Ye  shall  pray;'  because  old  Latimer  or  Jewell 
said,  '  Ye  shall  praie,'  therefore  we  must  not  say,  '  Let  us  pray.' 
Presently  he  brought  out,"  continued  Sheffield,  assuming  a  pom- 
pous and  up-and-down  tone,  " '  especially  for  that  pure  and 
apostolic  branch  of  it  established,'  —  here  the  man  rose  on  his  toes, 
*  established  in  these  dominions.'  Next  came,  '  for  our  Sovereign 
Lady  Victoria,  Queen,  Defender  of  the  Faith,  in  all  causes  and 
over  all  persons,  ecclesiastical  as  well  as  civil,  within  these  her 
dominions,  supreme  '  —  an  awful  pause,  with  an  audible  fall  of 
the  sermon  case  on  the  cushion  ;  as  though  nature  did  not  con- 
tain, as  if  the  human  mind  could  not  sustain,  a  bigger  thought. 
Then  followed,  'the  pious  and  munificent  founder,'  in  the  same 
twang,  '  of  All  Saints'  and  Leicester  Colleges.'  But  his  chef- 
d'oeuvre  was  his  emphatic  recognition  of '  all  the  doctors,  both  the 
proctors,'  as  if  the  numerical  antithesis  had  a  graphic  power, 
and  threw  those  excellent  personages  into  a  charming  tableau 
vivant."      Charles  was   amused   at    all  this ;    but   he   said  in 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  11 

answer,  that  he  never  heard  a  sermon,  but  it  was  his  own  fault 
if  he  did  not  gain  good  from  it ;  and  he  quoted  the  words  of  his 
father,  who  when  he  one  day  asked  him  if  So-and-so  had  not 
preached  a  very  good  sermon,  "  My  dear  Charles,"  his  father 
had  said,  "  all  sermons  are  good."  The  words,  simple  as  they 
were,  had  retained  a  hold  on  his  memory. 

Meanwhile  they  had  proceeded  down  the  forbidden  High  Street, 
and  were  crossing  the  bridge,  when  on  the  opposite  side  they 
saw  before  them  a  tall,  upright  man,  whom  Sheffield  had  no 
difficulty  in  recognizing  as  a  bachelor  of  Nun's  Hall,  and  a  bore 
at  least  of  the  second  magnitude.  He  was  in  cap  and  gown,  but 
went  on  his  way,  as  if  intending,  in  that  extraordinary  guise,  to 
take  a  country  walk.  He  took  the  path  which  they  w^ere  going 
themselves,  and  they  tried  to  keep  behind  him ;  but  they  walked 
too  briskly,  and  he  too  leisurely,  to  allow  of  that.  It  is  very  diffi- 
cult duly  to  delineate  a  bore  in  a  narrative,  for  the  very  reason 
that  he  is  a  bore.  A  tale  must  aim  at  condensation,  but  a  bore  acts 
in  solution.  It  is  only  on  the  long  run  that  he  is  ascertained. 
Then,  indeed,  he  is  felt ;  he  is  oppressive  ;  like  the  sirocco., 
which  the  native  detects  at  once,  while  a  foreigner  is  often  at 
fault.  Tenet,  occiditque.  Did  you  hear  him  make  but  one  speech, 
perhaps  you  would  say  he  was  a  pleasant  well-informed  man ; 
but  when  he  never  comes  to  an  end,  or  has  one  and  the  same 
prose  every  time  you  meet  him,  or  keeps  you  standing  till  you 
are  fit  to  sink,  or  holds  you  fast  when  you  wish  to  keep  an  en- 
gagement, or  hinders  you  listening  to  important  conversation, — 
then  there  is  no  mistake,  the  truth  bursts  on  you,  apparent  dirce 
fades,  you  are  in  the  clutches  of  a  bore.  You  may  yield,  or 
you  may  flee ;  you  cannot  conquer.  Hence  it  is  clear  that  a 
bore  cannot  be  represented  in  a  story,  or  the  story  would  be  the 
bore  as  much  as  he.  The  reader,  then,  must  believe  this 
upright  Mr.  Bateman  to  be,  what  otherwise  he  might  not 
discover,  and  thank  us  for  our  consideration  in  not  proving  as 
well  as  asserting  it. 

Sheffield  bowed  to  him  courteously,  and  would  have  proceeded 
on  his  way  ;  but  Bateman,  as  became  his  nature,  would  not  suf- 
fer it ;  he  seized  him.  "  Are  you  disposed,"  he  said,  "  to  look 
into  the  pretty  chapel  we  are  restoring  on  the  common  ?  It  is 
quite  a  gem  —  in  the  purest  style  of  the  fourteenth  century.  It 
was  in  a  most  filthy  condition,  a  mere  cow  house ;  but  we  have 
made  a  subscription  and  set  it  to  rights."     "  We  are  bound  for 


12  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

Oxley,"  Sheffield  answered  ;  "  you  would  be  taking  us  out  of  our 
way."  "  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Bateman  ;  "  it's  not  a  stone's  throw 
from  the  road;  you  must  not  refuse  me.  I'm  sure  you'll  like  i|.'* 
He  proceeded  to  give  the  history  of  the  chapel  —  all  it  had  been, 
all  it  might  have  been,  all  it  was  not,  all  it  was  to  be.  "  It  is  to 
be  a  real  specimen  of  a  Catholic  chapel,"  he  said  ;  "  we  mean  to 
make  the  attempt  of  getting  the  Bishop  to  dedicate  it  to  the 
Royal  Martyr  —  why  should  we  not  have  our  St.  Charles  as 
well  as  the  Romanists  ?  —  and  it  will  be  quite  sweet  to  hear  the 
vesper  bell  tolling  over  the  sullen  moor  every  evening,  in  all 
weathers,  and  amid  all  the  changes  and  chances  of  this  mortal 
life."  Sheffield  asked  what  congregation  they  expected  to  col- 
lect at  that  hour  ?  "  That's  a  low  view,"  answered  Bateman  ; 
"  it  does  not  signify  at  all.  In  real  Catholic  churches  the  num- 
ber of  the  congregation  is  nothing  to  the  purpose ;  service  is  for 
those  who  come,  not  for  those  who  stay  away."  "  Well,"  said 
Sheffield,  "I  understand  what  that  means,  when  a  Roman  Cath- 
olic says  it ;  for  a  Priest  is  supposed  to  offisr  sacriiQce,  which  he 
can  do  without  a  congregation  as  well  as  with  one.  And,  again. 
Catholic  chapels  often  stand  over  the  bodies  of  martyrs,  or  on 
some  place  of  miracle,  as  a  record ;  but  our  service  is  '  Common 
Prayer,'  and  how  can  you  have  that  without  a  congregation  ?  " 

Bateman  replied  that,  even  if  members  of  the  University  did 
not  drop  in,  which  he  expected,  at  least  the  bell  would  be  a 
memento  far  and  near.  "  Ah,  I  see,"  retorted  Sheffield,  "  the 
use  will  be  the  reverse  of  what  you  said  just  now  ;  it  is  not  for 
those  that  come,  but  for  those  who  stay  away.  The  congrega- 
tion is  outside,  not  inside ;  it's  an  outside  concern.  I  once  saw 
a  tall  church  tower  —  so  it  appeared  from  the  road ;  but  on  the 
sides  you  saw  it  was  but  a  thin  wall,  made  to  look  like  a  tower, 
in  order  to  give  the  church  an  imposing  etfect.  Do  run  up 
such  a  bit  of  a  wall,  and  put  the  bell  in  it."  "  There's  another 
reason,"  answered  Bateman,  "  for  restoring  the  chapel,  quite  in- 
dependent of  the  service.  It  has  been  a  chapel  from  time  im- 
memorial, and  was  consecrated  by  our  Catholic  forefathers." 
ShetHeld  argued,  that  this  would  be  as  good  a  reason  for  keeping 
up  the  Mass  as  for  keeping  up  the  chapel.  "  We  do  keep  up 
the  Mass,"  said  Bateman  ;  "  we  ofier  our  Mass  every  Sunday, 
according  to  the  rite  of  the  English  Cyprian,  as  honest  Peter 
Heylin  calls  him ;  what  would  you  have  more  ? "  Whether 
Sheffield  understood  this  or  no,  at  least  it  was  beyond  Charles. 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  IS 

Was  the  Common  Prayer  the  English  Mass,  or  the  communion 
service,  or  the  Litany,  or  the  sermon,  or  any  part  of  these  ?  or 
were  Bateman's  words  really  a  confession  that  there  were  cler- 
gymen who  actually  said  the  Popish  Mass  once  a  week  ?  Bate- 
man's precise  meaning,  however,  is  lost  to  posterity ;  for  they 
had  by  this  time  arrived  at  the  door  of  the  chapel.  It  had  once 
been  the  chapel  of  an  almshouse ;  a  small  farmhouse  stood  near ; 
but,  for  population,  it  was  plain  no  "  church  accommodation  " 
was  wanted.  Before  entering,  Charles  hung  back,  and  whispered 
to  his  friend  that  he  did  not  know  Bateman.  An  introduction, 
in  consequence,  took  jDlace.  "Reding  of  St.  Savior's — Bate- 
man of  Nun's  Hall ; "  after  which  ceremony,  in  place  of  holy 
water,  they  managed  to  enter  the  chapel  in  company. 

It  was  as  pretty  a  building  as  Bateman  had  led  them  to  ex- 
pect, and  very  prettily  done  up.  There  was  a  stone  altar  in 
the  best  style,  a  credence  table,  a  piscina,  what  looked  like 
a  tabernacle,  and  a  couple  of  handsome  brass  candlesticks. 
Charles  asked  the  use  of  the  piscina,  —  he  did  not  know  its 
name,  —  and  was  told  that  there  was  always  a  piscina  in  the  old 
churches  in  England,  and  that  there  could  be  no  proper  restora- 
tion without  it.  Next  he  asked  the  meaning  of  the  beautifully 
wrought  closet  or  recess  above  the  altar;  and  received  for 
answer,  that  "our  sister  churches  of  the  Roman  obedience 
always  had  a  tabernacle  for  reserving  the  consecrated  bread." 
Here  Charles  was  brought  to  a  stand  :  on  which  Sheffield  asked 
the  use  of  the  niches  ;  and  was  told  by  Bateman,  that  images 
of  saints  were  forbidden  by  the  canon,  but  that  his  friends,  in  all 
these  matters,  did  what  they  could.  Lastly,  he  asked  the  mean- 
ing of  the  candlesticks ;  and  was  told  that,  Catholicly-minded 
as  their  Bishop  was,  they  had  some  fear  lest  he  would  object  to 
lights  in  service  —  at  least  at  first ;  but  it  was  plain  that  the 
iise  of  the  candlesticks  was  to  hold  candles.  Having  had  their 
fill  of  gazing  and  admiring,  they  turned  to  proceed  on  their  walk, 
but  could  not  get  off  an  invitation  to  breakfast,  in  a  few  days,  at 
Bateman's  lodgings  in  the  Turk 
2 


14  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 


CHAPTER    III. 

Neither  of  the  friends  had  what  are  called  vieivs  in  religion  : 
by  which  expression  we  do  not  here  signify  that  neither  had 
taken  up  a  certain  line  of  opinion,  though  this  was  true  also  ;  but 
that  neither  of  them  —  how  could  they  at  their  age  ?  —  had  placed 
his  religion  on  an  intellectual  basis.  It  may  be  as  well  to  state 
more  distinctly  what  a  "  view  "  is,  what  it  is  to  be  "  viewy,"  and 
what  is  the  state  of  those  who  have  no  "  views."  When  persons, 
then,  for  the  first  time  look  upon  the  world  of  politics  or  religion, 
all  that  they  find  there  meets  their  mind's  eye  as  a  landscape 
addresses  itself  for  the  first  time  to  a  person  who  has  just  gained 
his  bodily  sight.  One  thing  is  as  far  off  as  another  ;  there  is  no 
perspective.  The  connection  of  fact  with  fact,  truth  with  truth, 
the  bearing  of  fact  upon  truth,  and  truth  upon  fact,  what  leads 
to  what,  what  are  points  primary  and  what  secondary,  —  all  this 
they  have  yet  to  learn.  It  is  all  a  new  science  to  them,  and 
they  do  not  even  know  their  ignorance  of  it.  Moreover,  the 
world  of  to-day  has  no  connection  in  their  minds  with  the  world 
of  yesterday  ;  time  is  not  a  stream,  but  stands  before  them  round 
and  full,  like  the  moon.  They  do  not  know  what  happened  ten 
years  ago,  much  less  the  annals  of  a  century ;  the  past  does  not 
live  to  them  in  the  present ;  they  do  not  understand  the  worth  of 
contested  points ;  names  have  no  associations  for  them,  and  per- 
sons kindle  no  recollections.  They  hear  of  men,  and  things,  and 
projects,  and  struggles,  and  principles ;  but  every  thing  comes 
and  goes  like  the  wind,  nothing  makes  an  impression,  nothing 
penetrates,  nothing  has  its  place  in  their  minds.  They  locate 
nothing ;  they  have  no  system.  They  hear  and  they  forget ;  or 
they  just  recollect  what  they  have  once  heard,  they  can't  tell 
where.  Thus  they  have  no  consistency  in  their  arguments ;  that 
is,  they  argue  one  way  to-day,  and  not  exactly  the  other  way  to- 
morrow, but  indirectly  the  other  way,  at  random.  Their  lines  of 
argument  diverge ;  nothing  comes  to  a  point ;  there  is  no  one 
centre  in  which  their  mind  sits,  on  which  their  judgment  of  men 
and  things  proceeds.  This  is  the  state  of  many  men  all  through 
life ;  and  miserable  politicians  or  Churchmen  they  make,  unless 
by  good  luck  they  are  in  safe  hands,  and  ruled  by  others,  or  are 
pledged  to  a  course.  Else  they  are  at  the  mercy  of  the  winds 
and   waves ;  and,  without  being   Radical,  Whig,  Tory,  or   Con- 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  15 

eervative,  High  Church  or  Low  Church,  they  do  Whig  acts, 
Tory  acts,  Catholic  acts,  and  heretical  acts,  as  the  fit  takes  them, 
or  as  events  or  parties  drive  them.  And  sometimes,  when  their 
self-importance  is  hurt,  they  take  refuge  in  the  idea  that  all  this 
is  a  proof  that  they  are  unfettered,  moderate,  dispassionate,  that 
they  observe  the  mean,  that  they  are  no  "  party  men  ; "  when 
they  are,  in  fact,  the  most  helpless  of  slaves  ;  for  our  strength  in 
this  world  is,  to  be  the  subjects  of  the  reason ;  and  our  liberty,  to 
be  captives  of  the  truth. 

Now  Charles  Reding,  a  youth  of  twenty,  could  not  be  supposed 
to  have  much  of  a  view  in  religion  or  politics  ;  but  no  clever  man 
allows  himself  to  judge  of  things  simply  at  haphazard ;  he  is 
obliged,  from  a  sort  of  self-respect,  to  have  some  rule  or  other, 
true  or  false ;  and  Charles  was  very  fond  of  the  maxim,  which 
lie  has  already  enunciated,  that  we  must  measure  people  by  what 
they  are,  and  not  by  what  they  are  not.  He  had  a  great  notion 
of  loving  every  one  —  of  looking  kindly  on  every  one ;  he  was 
pierced  with  the  sentiment  which  he  had  seen  in  a  popular  volume 
of  poetry,  that 

"  Christian  souls,    *    *    * 

Though  worn  and  soiled  with  sinful  clay, 

Are  yet,  to  eyes  that  see  them  true, 

All  glisten  with  baptismal  dew. " 

He  liked  as  he  walked  along  the  road,  and  met  laborer  or  horse- 
man, gentleman  or  beggar,  to  say  to  himself,  "  He  is  a  Chris- 
tian." And  when  he  came  to  Oxford,  he  came  there  with  an 
enthusiasm  so  simple  and  warm  as  to  be  almost  childish.  He 
reverenced  even  the  velvet  of  the  Pro ;  nay,  the  cocked  hat 
which  preceded  the  preacher  had  its  claim  on  his  deferential 
regard.  Without  being  himself  a  poet,  he  was  in  the  season  of 
poetry,  in  the  sweet  spring  time,  when  the  year  is  most  beautiful, 
because  it  is  new.  Novelty  was  beauty  to  a  heart  so  open  and 
cheerful  as  his ;  not  only  because  it  was  novelty,  and  had  its 
proper  charm  as  such,  but  because  when  we  first  see  things  we 
see  them  in  a  gay  confusion,  which  is  a  principal  element  of  the 
poetical.  As  time  goes  on,  and  we  number  and  sort  and  measure 
things  —  as  we  gain  views  —  we  advance  towards  philosophy 
and  truth,  but  we  recede  from  poetry. 

When  we  ourselves  were  young,  we  once  on  a  time  walked 
on  a  hot  summer  day  from  Oxford  to  Newington  —  a  dull  road, 
as  any  one  who  has  gone  it  knows  ;  yet  it  was  new  to  us ;  and 


16  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

we  protest  to  you,  reader,  believe  it  or  not,  laugh  or  not,  as  you 
will,  to  us  it  seemed  on  that  occasion  quite  touchingly  beautiful ; 
and  a  soft  melancholy  came  over  us,  of  which  the  shadows  fall 
even  now,  when  we  look  back  on  that  dusty,  weary  journey. 
And  why  ?  because  every  object  which  met  us  was  unknown 
and  full  of  mystery.  A  tree  or  two  in  the  distance  seemed  the 
beginning  of  a  great  wood,  or  park,  stretching  endlessly  ;  a  hill 
implied  a  vale  beyond,  with  that  vale's  history ;  the  by-lanes, 
with  their  green  hedges,  wound  and  vanished,  yet  were  not  lost 
to  the  imagination.  Such  was  our  first  journey  ;  but  when  we 
had  gone  it  several  times  the  mind  refused  to  act,  the  scene 
ceased  to  enchant,  stern  reality  alone  remained  ;  and  we  thought 
it  one  of  the  most  tiresome,  odious  roads  we  ever  had  occasion 
to  traverse. 

But  to  return  to  our  story.  Such  was  Reding.  But  Sheffield, 
on  the  other  hand,  without  possessing  any  real  view  of  things 
more  than  Charles,  was,  at  this  time,  fonder  of  hunting  for  views, 
and  more  in  danger  of  taking  up  false  ones.  That  is,  he  was 
"  viewy,"  in  a  bad  sense  of  the  word.  He  was  not  satisfied  in- 
tellectually with  things  as  they  are ;  he  was  critical,  impatient 
to  reduce  things  to  system,  pushed  principles  too  far,  was  fond 
of  argument,  partly  from  pleasure  in  the  exercise,  partly  because 
he  was  perplexed,  though  he  did  not  lay  any  thing  very  much  to 
heart. 

They  neither  of  them  felt  any  special  interest  in  the  contro- 
versy going  on  in  the  University  and  country  about  high  and 
low  Church.  Sheffield  had  a  sort  of  contempt  for  it;  and  Reding 
felt  it  to  be  bad  taste  to  be  unusual  or  prominent  in  any  thing. 
An  Eton  acquaintance  had  asked  him  to  go  and  hear  one  of  the 
principal  preachers  of  the  Catholic  party,  and  offered  to  introduce 
him  ;  but  he  had  declined  it.  He  did  not  like,  he  said,  mixing 
himself  up  with  party  ;  he  had  come  to  Oxford  to  get  his  degree, 
and  not  to  take  up  opinions  ;  he  thought  his  father  would  not  relish 
it ;  and,  moreover,  he  felt  some  little  repugnance  to  such  opinions 
and  such  people,  under  the  notion  that  the  authorities  of  the  Uni- 
versity were  opposed  to  the  whole  movement.  He  could  not  help 
looking  at  its  leaders  as  demagogues  ;  and  towards  demagogues 
he  felt  an  unmeasured  aversion  and  contempt.  He  did  not  see 
why  clergymen,  however  respectable,  should  be  collecting  un- 
dergraduates about  them  ;  and  he  heard  stories  of  their  way  of 
going  on,  which  did  not  please  him.     Moreover,  he  did  not  like 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  17 

the  specimens  of  their  followers  whom  he  fell  in  with ;  they 
were  forward,  or  they  "  talked  strong,"  as  it  was  called ;  did 
ridiculous,  extravagant  acts ;  and  sometimes  neglected  their 
college  duties  for  things  which  did  not  concern  them.  He  was 
unfortunate,  certainly :  for  this  is  a  very  unfair  account  of  the 
most  exemplary  men  of  that  day,  who  doubtless  are  still,  as 
clergymen  or  laymen,  the  strength  of  the  Anglican  Church  ;  but 
in  all  collections  of  men,  the  straw  and  rubbish  (as  Lord  Bacon 
says)  float  on  the  top,  while  gold  and  jewels  sink  and  are  hidden. 
Or,  what  is  more  opposite  still,  many  men,  or  most  men,  are  a 
compound  of  precious  and  worthless  together,  and  their  worthless 
swims,  and  their  precious  lies  at  the  bottom. 


CHAPTER     IV. 


Bateman  was  one  of  these  composite  characters ;  he  had  much 
good  and  much  cleverness  in  him ;  but  he  was  absurd,  and  he 
afforded  a  subject  of  conversation  to  the  two  friends  as  they  pro- 
ceeded on  their  walk.  "  I  wish  there  was  less  of  fudge  and 
humbug  every  where,"  said  Sheffield  ;  "  one  might  shovel  off 
cartloads  from  this  place,  and  not  miss  it."  "  If  you  had  your 
way,"  answered  Charles,  "  you  would  scrape  off  the  roads  till 
there  was  nothing  to  walk  on.  "We  are  forced  to  walk  on  what 
you  call  humbug ;  we  put  it  in  under  our  feet,  but  we  use  it."  "  I 
cannot  think  that ;  it's  like  doing  evil  that  good  may  come.  I 
see  shams  every  where.  I  go  into  St.  Mary's,  and  I  hear  men 
spouting  out  commonplaces  in  a  deep  or  a  shrill  voice,  or  with 
slow,  clear,  quiet  emphasis  and  significant  eyes,  as  that  Bampton 
preacher  not  long  ago,  who  assured  us,  apropos  of  the  resurrec- 
tion of  the  body,  that  '  all  attempts  to  resuscitate  the  inanimate 
corpse  by  natural  methods  had  hitherto  been  experimentally 
abortive.'  I  go  into  the  place  where  degrees  are  given  —  the 
Convocation,  I  think  —  and  there  one  hears  a  deal  of  unmean- 
ing Latin  for  hours  —  graces,  dispensations,  and  Proctors  walk- 
ing up  and  down  for  nothing  ;  all  in  order  to  keep  up  a  sort  of 
ghost  of  things  passed  away  for  centuries,  while  the  real  work 
might  be  done  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  I  fall  in  with  this 
2* 


18  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

Bateman,  and  he  talks  to  me  of  rood  lofts  without  roods,  and 
piscinae  without  water,  and  niches  without  images,  and  candle- 
sticks without  lights,  and  masses  without  Popery;  till  I  feel, 
with  Shakspeare,  that  '  all  the  world's  a  stage.'  Well,  I  go 
to  Shaw,  Turner,  and  Brown,  very  different  men,  pupils  of  Dr. 
Gloucester  —  you  know  whom  I  mean  —  and  they  tell  us  that 
M'e  ought  to  put  up  crucifixes  by  the  wayside,  in  order  to  excite 
religious  feoh'ng." 

"  Well,  I  really  think  you  are  hard  on  all  these  people,"  said 
Charles  ;  "  it  is  all  very  much  like  declamation  ;  you  would 
destroy  externals  of  every  kind.  You  are  like  the  man,  in  one 
of  Miss  Edgeworth's  novels,  who  shut  his  ears  to  the  music,  that 
he  might  laugh  at  the  dancers."  "  What  is  the  music  to  which  I 
close  my  ears  ? "  asked  Sheffield.  "  To  the  meaning  of  those 
various  acts,"  answered  Charles  ;  *'  the  pious  feeling  which  ac- 
companies the  sight  of  the  image  is  the  music."  "  To  those  who 
have  the  pious  feeling,  certainly,"  said  Sheffield  ;  "  but  to  put 
up  images  in  England  in  order  to  create  the  feeling,  is  like  dan- 
cing to  create  music."  "  I  think  you  are  hard  upon  England," 
replied  Charles ;  "  we  are  a  religious  people."  "  Well,  I  will 
put  it  differently  :  do  yon  like  music  ?"  "  You  ought  to  know,  " 
said  Charles,  "  whom  I  have  frightened  so  often  with  my  fiddle." 
"  Do  you  like  dancing  ?  "  "  To  tell  the  truth,"  said  Charles,  "  I 
don't."  "  Nor  do  I,"  said  Sheffield  ;  "  it  makes  me  laugh  to  think 
what  I  have  done,  when  a  boy,  to  escape  dancing  ;  there  is  some- 
thing so  absurd  in  it ;  and  one  had  to  be  civil  and  to  duck  to 
young  girls  who  were  either  prim  or  pert.  I  have  behaved  quite 
rudely  to  them  sometimes,  and  then  have  been  annoyed  at  my 
ungentlemanlikeness,  and  not  known  how  to  get  out  of  the 
scrape."  "  Well,  I  didn't  know  we  -were  so  like  each  other  in 
any  thing,"  said  Charles ;  "  O,  the  misery  I  have  endured,  in 
having  to  stand  up  to  dance,  and  to  walk  about  with  a  partner  !  — 
every  body  looking  at  me,  and  I  so  awkward.  It  has  been  a 
torture  to  me  days  before  and  after." 

They  had  by  this  time  come  up  to  the  foot  of  the  rough  rising 
ground  which  leads  to  the  sort  of  table  land,  on  the  edge  of  which 
Oxley  is  placed  ;  and  they  stood  still  a  while  to  see  some  eques- 
trians take  the  hurdles.  They  then  mounted  the  hill,  and  looked 
back  upon  Oxford.  "  Perhaps  you  call  those  beautiful  spires  and 
towers  a  sham,"  said  Charles,  "  because  you  see  their  tops  and 
not  their  bottoms  ?  "     "  Whereabouts  were  we  in  our  argument  ?  " 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  19 

said  the  other,  reminded  that  they  had  been  wandering  from  it 
for  the  last  ten  minutes  ;  "  O,  I  recollect ;  I  know  what  I  was  at. 
I  was  saying  that  you  liked  music,  but  didn't  like  dancing  ;  music 
leads  another  person  to  dance,  but  not  you  ;  and  dancing  does  not 
increase  but  diminishes  the  intensity  of  the  pleasure  you  find  in 
music.  In  like  manner,  it  is  a  mere  piece  of  pedantry  to  make 
a  religious  nation,  like  the  English,  more  religious  by  placing 
images  in  the  streets  ;  this  is  not  the  English  way,  and  only 
offends  us.  If  it  ^'ere  our  way,  it  would  come  naturally  without 
any  one  telling  us.  As  music  incites  to  dancing,  so  religion 
Avould  lead  to  images.  But  as  dancing  does  not  improve  music 
to  those  who  do  not  like  dancing,  so  ceremonies  do  not  improve 
religion  to  those  who  do  not  like  ceremonies."  "  Then  do  you 
mean,"  said  Charles,  "  that  the  English  Romanists  are  shams,  be- 
cause they  use  crucifixes  ?  "  "  Stop  there,"  said  Sheffield  ;  "  now 
you  are  getting  upon  a  different  subject.  They  believe  that  there 
is  virtue  in  images  ;  that  indeed  is  absurd  in  them,  but  it  makes 
them  quite  consistent  in  honoring  them.  They  do  not  put  up 
images  as  outward  shows,  merely  to  create  feelings  in  the  minds 
of  beholders,  as  Gloucester  would  do,  but  they  in  good  downright 
earnest  worship  images,  as  being  more  than  they  seem,  as  being 
not  a  mere  outside  show.  They  pay  them  a  religious  worship, 
as  having  been  handled  by  great  saints  years  ago,  as  having  been 
used  in  pestilences,  as  having  wrought  miracles,  as  having  moved 
their  eyes  or  bowed  their  heads ;  or,  at  least,  as  having  been 
blessed  by  the  priest,  and  been  brought  into  connection  with  in- 
visible grace.     This  is  superstitious  ;  but  it  is  real." 

Charles  was  not  satisfied.  "  An  image  is  a  mode  of  teaching," 
he  said  ;  "  do  you  mean  to  say  that  a  person  is  a  sham  merely  be- 
cause he  mistakes  the  particular  mode  of  teaching  best  suited  to 
his  own  country  ?  "  "I  did  not  say  that  Dr.  Gloucester  was  a 
sham,"  answered  Sheffield  ;  "  but  that  that  mode  of  teaching  of 
his  was  among  Protestants  a  sham  and  a  humbug."  "  But  this 
principle  will  carry  you  too  far,  and  destroy  itself,"  said  Charles. 
"  Don't  you  recollect  what  Thompson  quoted  the  other  day  out 
of  x\ristotle,  which  he  had  lately  begun  in  lecture  with  Vincent, 
and  which  we  thought  so  acute  —  that  habits  are  created  by  those 
very  acts  in  which  they  manifest  themselves  when  created  ?  We 
learn  to  swim  well  by  trying  to  swim.  Now  Bateman,  doubtless, 
wishes  to  introduce  piscinae  and  tabernacles  ;  and  to  wait,  before 
beginning,  till  they  are  received,  is  like  not  going  into  the  water 


20  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

till  you  can  swim."  "  Well,  but  what  is  Bateman  the  better  when 
his  piscina  is  universal  ?  "  asked  Sheffield  ;  "  what  does  it  mean  ? 
In  the  Romish  Church  it  has  a  use,  I  know  —  I  don't  know  what 
—  but  it  comes  into  the  Mass.  But  if  Bateman  makes  piscinae 
universal  among  us,  what  has  he  achieved  but  the  reign  of  a  uni- 
versal humbug?"  "But,  mj  dear  Sheffield,"  answered  Reding, 
*•  consider  how  many  things  there  are,  which,  in  the  course  of 
time,  have  altered  their  original  meaning,  and  yet  have  a  mean- 
ing, though  a  changed  one,  still.  The  judge's  wig  is  no  sham, 
yet  it  has  a  history.  The  Queen,  at  her  coronation,  is  said  to 
wear  a  Roman  Catholic  vestment,  is  that  a  sham  ?  Does  it  not 
still  typify  and  impress  upon  us  the  '  divinity  that  doth  hedge  a 
king,'  though  it  has  lost  the  meaning  which  the  Church  of  Rome 
gave  it  ?  Or  are  you  of  the  number  of  those,  who,  according  to 
the  witticism,  think  majesty,  when  deprived  of  its  externals,  a 
jest  ?  "  "  Then  you  defend  the  introduction  of  unmeaning  pis- 
cinas and  candlesticks  ?  "  "I  think,"  answered  Charles,  "  that 
there's  a  great  difference  between  reviving  and  retaining ;  it  may 
be  natural  to  retain,  even  while  the  use  fails,  unnatural  to  revive 
when  it  has  failed ;  but  this  is  a  question  of  discretion  and  judg- 
ment."    "  Then  you  give  it  against  Bateman,"  said  Sheffield. 

A  slight  pause  ensued  ;  then  Charles  added,  "  But  perhaps 
these  men  actually  do  wish  to  introduce  the  realities  as  well  as 
the  externals  ;  perhaps  they  wish  to  use  the  piscina  as  well  as  to 
have  it.  *  *  *  Sheffield,"  he  continued  abruptly, "  why  are 
not  canonicals  a  sham,  if  piscinae  are  shams  ?  "  "  Canonicals," 
said  Sheffield,  as  if  thinking  about  them  ;  "  no,  canonicals  are  no 
sham ;  for  preaching,  I  suppose,  is  the  highest  ordinance  in  our 
Church,  and  has  the  richest  dress.  The  robes  of  a  great  preach- 
er cost,  I  know,  many  pounds  ;  for  there  was  one  near  us,  who, 
on  leaving,  had  a  present  from  the  ladies  of  an  entire  set,  and  a 
dozen  pair  of  worked  slippers  into  the  bargain.  But  it's  all  fit- 
ting, if  preaching  is  the  great  office  of  the  clergy.  Next  comes 
the  Sacrament,  and  has  the  surplice  and  hood.  And  hood,"  he 
repeated,  musing ;  "  what's  that  for  ?  no,  it's  the  scarf.  The 
hood  is  worn  in  the  University  pulpit ;  what  is  the  scarf?  it  be- 
longs to  chaplains,  I  believe,  that  is,  to  persons  ;  I  can't  make  a 
view  out  of  it."  "  My  dear  Sheffield,"  said  Charles,  "  you  have 
cut  your  own  throat.  Here  you  have  been  trying  to  give  a  sense 
to  the  clerical  dress,  and  cannot ;  are  you  then  prepared  to  call 
t  a  sham  ?     Answer  me  this  single  question  —  why  does  a  clergy- 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  21 

man  wear  a  surplice  when  he  reads  prayers  ?  Nay,  I  will  put 
it  more  simply  —  why  can  only  a  clergyman  read  prayers  in 
Church  ?  why  cannot  I  ?  "  Sheffield  hesitated,  and  looked  seri- 
ous. "  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  you  have  just  pitched  on  Jeremy 
Bentham's  objection.  In  his  Church  of  Englandism,  he  pro- 
poses, if  I  recollect  rightly,  that  a  parish  boy  should  be  taught 
to  read  the  Liturgy  ;  and  he  asks.  Why  send  a  person  to  the 
University  for  three  or  four  years  at  an  enormous  expense,  why 
teach  him  Latin  and  Greek,  on  purpose  to  read  what  any  boy 
could  be  taught  to  read  at  a  dame's  school  ?  What  is  the  virtue 
of  a  clergyman's  reading  ?  Something  of  this  kind,  Bentham 
says  ;  and,"  he  added  slowly,  "  to  tell  the  truth,  /don't  know  how 
to  answer  him."  Reding  was  surprised,  and  shocked,  and  puz- 
zled too ;  he  did  not  know  what  to  say ;  when  the  conversation 
was,  perhaps  fortunately,  interrupted. 


CHAPTER    V. 


Every  year  brings  changes  and  reforms.  We  do  not  know 
what  is  the  state  of  Oxley  Church  now ;  it  may  have  rood  loft, 
piscina,  sedilia,  all  new ;  or  it  may  be  reformed  backwards,  the 
seats  on  principle  turning  from  the  Communion  table,  and  the 
pulpit  planted  in  the  middle  of  the  aisle  :  but  at  the  time  when  these 
two  young  men  walked  through  the  churchyard,  there  was  nothing 
very  good  or  very  bad  to  attract  them  within  the  building ;  and 
they  were  passing  on,  when  they  observed,  coming  out  of  the 
church,  what  Sheffield  called  an  elderly  don,  a  fellow  of  a  college, 
whom  Charles  knew.  He  was  a  man  of  family,  and  had  some 
little  property  of  his  own,  had  been  a  contemporary  of  his 
father's  at  the  University,  and  had  from  time  to  time  been  a 
guest  at  the  parsonage.  Charles  had,  in  consequence,  known 
him  from  a  boy ;  and  now,  since  he  came  into  residence,  he  had, 
as  was  natural,  received  many  small  attentions  from  him.  Once, 
when  he  was  late  for  his  own  hall,  he  had  given  him  his  dinner 
in  his  rooms ;  he  had  taken  him  out  on  a  fishing  expedition  to- 
wards Faringdon  ;  and  had  promised  him  tickets  for  some  ladies, 
lionesses  of  his,  who  were  coming  up  to  the  Commemoration. 


22  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

He  was  a  shrewd,  easy-tempered,  freespoken  man,  of  small 
desires  and  no  ambition  ;  of  no  very  keen  sensibilities  or  roman- 
tic delicacies,  and  very  little  religious  pretension  ;  that  is,  though 
unexceptionable  in  his  deportment,  he  hated  the  show  of  religion, 
and  was  impatient  at  those  who  affected  it.  He  had  known  the 
University  for  thirty  years,  and  formed  a  right  estimate  of 
most  things  in  it.  He  had  come  out  to  Oxley  to  take  a  funeral 
for  a  friend,  and  was  now  returning  home.  He  hallooed  to 
Charles,  who,  though  feeling  at  first  awkward  on  finding  himself 
with  two  such  different  friends  and  in  two  such  different  rela- 
tions, was,  after  a  time,  partially  restored  to  himself  by  the  un- 
concern of  Mr.  Malcolm  ;  and  the  three  walked  home  together. 
Yet,  even  to  the  last,  he  did  not  quite  know  how  and  where  to 
walk,  and  how  tocarry  himself ;  particularly  when  they  got  near 
Oxford,  and  he  fell  in  with  various  parties  who  greeted  him  in 
passing. 

Charles,  by  way  of  remark,  said  they  had  been  looking  in  at  a 
pretty  little  chapel  on  the  common,  which  was  now  in  the  course 
of  repair.  Mr.  Malcolm  laughed.  "  So,  Ciiarles,"  he  said, 
"yowVe  bit  with  the  new  fashion."  Charles  colored,  and  asked, 
"  "What  fashion  ?  "  adding,  that  a  friend,  by  accident,  had  taken 
them  in.  "  You  ask  what  fashion,"  said  Mr.  Malcolm ;  "  why, 
the  newest,  latest  fashion.  This  is  a  place  of  fashions  ;  there 
have  been  many  fashions  in  my  time.  The  greater  part  of  the 
residents,  that  is,  the  boys,  change  once  in  three  years  ;  the 
fellows  and  tutors,  perhaps  in  half  a  dozen  ;  and  every  genera- 
tion has  its  own  fashion.  There  is  no  principle  of  stability  in 
Oxford,  except  the  Heads,  and  they  are  always  the  same,  and 
always  will  be  the  same  to  the  end  of  the  chapter.  What  is  in 
now,"  he  asked,  "  among  you  youngsters  ?  drinking  or  cigars  ?  " 
Charles  laughed  modestly,  and  said  he  hoped  drinking  had  gone 
out  every  where.  "  Worse  things  may  come  in,"  said  Mr.  Mal- 
colm ;  "  but  there  are  fashions  every  where.  There  was  once  a 
spouting  club,  perhaps  it  is  in  favor  still;  before  it  was  the 
music  room.  Once  geology  was  all  the  rage  ;  now  it  is  theology  ; 
soon  it  will  be  architecture,  or  mediaeval  antiquities,  or  editions 
and  codices.  Each  wears  out  in  its  turn  ;  all  depends  on  one  or 
two  active  men  ;  but  the  secretary  takes  a  wife,  or  the  professor 
gets  a  stall ;  and  then  the  meetings  are  called  irregularly,  and 
nothing  is  done  in  them,  and  so  gradually  the  affair  dwindles 
and  dies." 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  23 

Sheffield  asked  whether  the  present  movement  had  not  spread 
too  widely  through  the  country  for  such  a  termination  ;  he  did 
not  know  much  about  it  himself,  but  the  papers  were  full  of  it, 
and  it  was  the  talk  of  every  neighborhood  ;  it  was  not  confined 
to  Oxford. 

"  I  don't  know  about  the  country,"  said  Mr.  Malcolm,  "  that  is 
a  large  question  ;  but  it  has  not  the  elements  of  stability  here. 
These  gentlemen  will  take  livings  and  marry,  and  that  will  be 
the  end  of  the  business.  I  am  not  speaking  against  them  ;  they 
are,  I  believe,  very  respectable  men  ;  but  they  are  riding  on  the 
spring  tide  of  a  fashion." 

Charles  said  it  was  a  nuisance  to  see  the  party  spirit  it  in- 
troduced. Oxford  ought  to  be  a  place  of  quiet  and  study  ; 
peace  and  the  Muses  always  went  together  ;  whereas  there  was 
talk,  talk,  in  every  quarter.  A  man  could  not  go  about  his 
duties  in  a  natural  way,  and  take  every  one  as  he  came,  but 
was  obliged  to  take  part  in  questions,  and  to  consider  points, 
which  he  might  wish  to  put  from  him,  and  must  sport  an  opinion 
when  he  really  had  none  to  give. 

Mr.  Malcolm  assented  in  a  half-absent  way,  looking  at  the 
view  before  him,  and  seemingly  enjoying  it.  "  People  call  this 
county  ugly,"  said  he,  "  and  perhaps  it  is  ;  but  whether  I  am 
used  to  it  or  no,  I  always  am  pleased  with  it.  The  lights  are 
always  new ;  and  thus  the  landscape,  if  it  deserves  the  name,  is 
always  presented  in  a  new  dress.  I  have  known  Shotover  there 
take  the  most  opposite  hues,  sometimes  purple,  sometimes  a  bright 
saftron  or  tawny  orange."  Here  he  stopped  :  "Yes,  you  speak  of 
party  spirit ;  very  true,  there's  a  good  deal  of  it.  *  *  *  No, 
I  don't  think  there's  much,"  he  continued,  rousing  ;  "  certainly 
there  is  more  division  just  at  this  minute  in  Oxford,  but  there 
always  is  division,  always  rivah-y.  The  separate  Societies  have 
their  own  interests  and  honor  to  maintain,  and  quarrel,  as  the 
orders  do  in  the  Church  of  Rome.  No,  that's  too  grand  a  com- 
parison ;  rather,  Oxford  is  like  an  almshouse  for  clergymen's 
widows.  Self-importance,  jealousy,  tittle  tattle,  are  the  order  of 
the  day.  It  has  alway  been  so  in  my  time.  The  two  great 
ladies,  Mrs.  Vice  Chancellor  and  Mrs.  Divinity  Professor,  can't 
agree,  and  have  foUowings  respectively :  or  Vice  Chancellor  him- 
self, being  a  new  broom,  sweeps  all  the  young  masters  clean  out 
of  Convocation  House,  to  their  great  indignation  ;  or  Mr.  Slaney, 
Dean  of  St.  Peter's,  does  not  scruple  to  say,  in  a  stage  coach,  that 


24  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

Mr.  Wood  is  no  scholar ;  on  which  the  said  Wood  calls  him  in 
return  '  slanderous  Slaney  ; '  or  the  elderly  Mr.  Barge,  late  Senior 
Fellow  of  St.  Michael's,  thinks  that  his  pretty  bride  has  not  been 
received  with  due  honors ;  or  Dr.  Crotchet  is  for  years  kept  out 
of  his  destined  bishopric  by  a  sinister  influence  ;  or  Mr.  Profess- 
or Carraway  has  been  infamously  shown  up  in  the  '  Edinburgh ' 
by  an  idle  fellow  whom  he  plucked  in  the  schools ;  or  {majora 
movemus)  three  colleges  interchange  a  mortal  vow  of  opposition 
to  a  fourth ;  or  the  young  working  masters  conspire  against  the 
Heads.  Now,  however,  we  are  improving ;  if  we  must  quarrel, 
let  it  be  the  rivalry  of  intellect  and  conscience,  rather  than  of 
interest  or  temper  ;  let  us  contend  for  things,  not  for  shadows." 

Sheffield  was  pleased  at  this,  and  ventured  to  say  that  the 
present  state  of  things  was  more  real,  and  therefore  more  healthy. 
Mr.  Malcolm  did  not  seem  to  hear  him,  for  he  did  not  reply ; 
and,  as  they  were  now  approaching  the  bridge  again,  the  con- 
versation stopped.  Sheffield  looked  slyly  at  Charles,  as  Mr. 
Malcolm  proceeded  with  them  up  High  Street ;  and  both  of 
them  had  the  triumph  and  the  amusement  of  being  convoyed 
safely  past  a  Proctor,  who  was  patrolling  it,  under  the  protec- 
tion of  a  Master. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


The  walk  to  Oxley  had  not  been  the  first  or  the  second  occasion 
on  which  Charles  had,  in  one  shape  or  other,  encountered  Shef- 
field's views  about  realities  and  shams ;  and  his  preachments 
had  begun  to  make  an  impression  on  him ;  that  is,  he  felt  that 
there  was  truth  in  them  at  bottom,  and  a  truth  new  to  him.  He 
was  not  a  person  to  let  a  truth  sleep  in  his  mind,  though  it  did 
not  vegetate  very  quickly ;  it  was  sure  ultimately  to  be  pursued 
into  its  consequences,  and  to  afl^ect  his  existing  opinions.  In  the 
instance  before  us,  he  saw  Sheffield's  principle  was  more  or  less 
antagonistic  to  his  own  favourite  maxim,  that  it  was  a  duty  to 
oe  pleased  with  every  one.  Contradictions  could  not  both  b<i 
real :  when  an  affirmative  was  true,  a  negative  was  false.  All 
doctrines  could  not  be  equally  sound  :  there  was  a  right  and  a 
wrong.     The  theory  of  dogmatic  truth,  as  opposed  to  latitudina- 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  25 

nanism  (he  did  not  know  their  names  or  their  history,  or 
suspect  what  was  going  on  within  him),  had,  in  the  course  of 
these  his  first  terms,  gradually  begun  to  energize  in  his  mind. 
Let  him  but  see  the  absurdities  of  the  latitudinarian  principle, 
when  carried  out,  and  he  is  likely  to  be  still  more  opposed  to  it. 

Bateman,  among  his  peculiarities,  had  a  notion  that  bringing 
persons  of  contrary  sentiments  together  was  the  likeliest  way  of 
making  a  party  agreeable,  or  at  least  useful.  He  had  done  his 
best  to  give  his  breakfast,  to  which  our  friends  were  invited,  this 
element  of  perfection  ;  not,  however,  to  his  own  satisfaction  ;  for, 
with  all  his  efforts,  he  had  but  picked  up  Mr.  Freeborn,  a  young 
Evangelical  Master,  with  whom  Sheffield  was  acquainted;  a 
sharp  but  not  very  wise  freshman,  who,  having  been  spoiled  at 
home,  and  having  plenty  of  money,  professed  to  be  cBsthetic,  and 
kept  his  college  authorities  in  a  perpetual  fidget,  lest  he  should 
some  morning  wake  up  a  Papist ;  and  a  friend  of  his,  a  nice 
modest-looking  youth,  who,  like  a  mouse,  had  keen  darting  eyes, 
and  ate  his  bread  and  butter  in  absolute  silence. 

They  had  hardly  seated  themselves,  and  Sheffield  was  pouring 
out  coffee,  and  a  plate  of  muffins  was  going  round,  and  Bateman 
was  engaged,  saucepan  in  hand,  in  the  operation  of  landing  his 
eggs,  now  boiled,  upon  the  table,  when  our  flighty  youth,  whose 
name  was  White,  observed  how  beautiful  the  Catholic  custom 
was  of  making  eggs  the  emblem  of  the  Easter  festival.  "  It 
is  truly  Catholic,"  said  he ;  "  for  it  is  retained  in  parts  of  Eng- 
land, you  have  it  in  Russia,  and  in  Rome  itself,  where  an  egg  Is 
served  up  on  every  plate  through  the  Easter  week,  after  being, 
I  believe,  blessed ;  and  it  is  as  expressive  and  significant  as  it 
is  CathoHc."  "  Beautiful  indeed  !  "  said  their  host ;  "  so  pretty, 
so  sweet ;  I  wonder  whether  our  Reformers  thought  of  it,  or  the 
profound  Hooker,  —  he  was  full  of  types,  —  or  Jewell.  You 
recollect  the  staff  Jewell  gave  him :  that  was  a  type.  It  was 
like  the  sending  of  Elisha's  staff  by  his  servant  to  the  dead 
child."  "0,  my  dear,  dear,  Bateman,"  cried  Sheffield,  "you 
are  making  Hooker  Gehazi."  "  That's  just  the  upshot  of  such 
trilling,"  said  Mr.  Freeborn  ;  «  you  never  know  where  to  find 
It ;  it  proves  any  thing,  and  disproves  any  thing."  "  That  is 
only  till  it's  sanctioned,"  said  White;  "when  the  Catholic 
Church  sanctions  it,  we're  safe."  "  Yes,  we're  safe,"  said  Bate- 
man ;  « it's  safe  when  it's  Catholic."  «  Yes,"  continued  White, 
*  things  change  their  nature  altogether  when  they  are  taken  up 


26  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

by  the  Catholic  Church :  that's  how  we  are  allowed  to  do  evil, 
that  good  may  come."  "What's  that?^'  said  Bateman. 
« Why,"  said  White,  "  the  Church  makes  evil  good."  "  My 
dear  White,"  said  Bateman  gravely,  "  that's  going  too  far ;  it  is 
indeed."  Mr.  Freeborn  suspended  his  breakfast  operations, 
and  sat  back  in  his  chair.  "  Why,"  continued  White,  "  is 
not  idolatry  wrong  ?  yet  image  worship  is  right."  Mr.  Free- 
born was  in  a  state  of  collapse.  "  That's  a  bad  instance, 
White,"  said  Sheffield;  "there  are  people  in  the  world  who 
are  uncatholic  enough  to  think  image  worship  is  wrong,  as  well 
as  idolatry."  "  A  mere  Jesuitical  distinction,"  said  Freeborn 
with  emotion.  "  Weil,"  said  White,  who  did  not  seem  in  great 
awe  of  the  young  M.  A.,  though  some  years,  of  course,  his  senior, 
"  I  will  take  a  better  instance  :  who  does  not  know  that  baptism 
gives  grace  ?  yet  there  were  heathen  baptismal  rites,  which,  of 
course,  were  devilish."  "  I  should  not  be  disposed,  Mr.  White, 
to  grant  you  so  much  as  you  would  wish,"  said  Freeborn, 
''  about  the  virtue  of  baptism."  "  Not  about  Christian  bap- 
tism ? "  asked  White.  "  It  is  easy,"  answered  Freeborn,  "  to 
mistake  the  sign  for  the  thing  signified."  "  Not  about  Catholic 
baptism  ?  "  repeated  White.  "  Catholic  baptism  is  a  mere  deceit 
and  delusion,"  retorted  Mr.  Freeborn.  "O,  my  dear  Free- 
born," interposed  Bateman,  "  now  you  are  going  too  far ;  you  are 
indeed."  "  Catholic,  Catholic ;  ,1  don't  know  what  you  mean," 
said  Freeborn.  "  I  mean,"  said  White,  "  the  baptism  of  the  One 
Catholic  Church,  of  which  the  Creed  speaks :  it's  quite  intelligi- 
ble." "  But  what  do  you  mean  by  the  Catholic  Church  ?  "  asked 
Freeborn.  "  The  Anglican,"  answered  Bateman.  "  The  Ro- 
man," answered  White ;  both  in  the  same  breath.  There  was  a 
general  laugh.  "  There  is  nothing  to  laugh  at,"  said  Bateman  ; 
"  Anglican  and  Roman  are  one."  "  One !  impossible,"  cried  Shef- 
field. "  Much  worse  than  impossible,"  observed  Mr.  Freeborn. 
*  I  should  make  a  distinction,"  said  Bateman  ;  "  I  should  say,  they 
are  one,  except  the  corruptions  of  the  Romish  Church."  "  That 
is,  one  except  where  they  differ,"  said  Sheffield.  "  Precisely 
so,"  said  Bateman.  "  Rather,  /should  say,"  objected  Mr.  Free- 
born, "two  except  where  they  agree."  "That's  just  the  issue," 
said  Sheffield ;  "  Bateman  says  that  the  Churches  are  one  ex- 
cept where  they  are  two  ;  and  Freeborn  says  that  they  are  two 
except  where  they  are  one." 

It  was  a  relief  at  this  moment  that  the  cook's  boy  came  in  with  a 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  27 

dish  of  hot  sausages ;  but  though  a  relief,  it  was  not  so  much  as 
a  diversion ;  the  conversation  proceeded.  Two  persons  did  not  like 
it;  Freeborn,  who  was  simply  disgusted  at  the  doctrine,  and 
Reding,  who  thought  it  a  bore ;  yet  it  was  the  bad  luck  of  Free- 
born forthwith  to  set  Charles  against  him,  as  well  as  the  rest ; 
and  to  remove  the  repugnance  which  he  had  to  engage  in  the 
dispute.  Freeborn,  in  fact,  thought  theology  itself  a  mistake,  as 
substituting,  as  he  considered,  worthless  intellectual  notions  for 
the  vital  truths  of  religion  ;  so  he  now  went  on  to  observe,  put- 
ting down  his  knife  and  fork,  that  it  really  was  to  him  inconceiv- 
able, that  real  religion  should  depend  on  metaphysical  distinctions, 
or  outward  observances ;  that  it  was  quite  a  different  thing  in 
Scripture ;  that  Scripture  said  much  of  faith  and  holiness,  but 
hardly  a  word  about  churches  and  forms.  He  proceeded  to  say 
that  it  was  the  great  and  evil  tendency  of  the  human  mind  to  in- 
terpose between  itself  and  its  Creator  some  self-invented  media- 
tor, and  it  did  not  matter  at  all  whether  that  human  device  was 
a  rite,  or  a  creed,  or  a  form  of  prayer,  or  good  works,  or  com- 
munion with  particular  churches  —  all  were  but  "  flattering  unc- 
tions to  the  soul,"  if  they  were  considered  necessary ;  the  only 
safe  way  of  using  them  was  to  use  them  with  the  feeling  that 
you  might  dispense  with  them ;  that  none  of  them  went  to  the 
root  of  the  matter,  for  that  faith,  that  is,  firm  belief  that  God 
had  forgiven  you,  was  the  one  thing  needful ;  that  where  that 
one  thing  was  present,  every  thing  else  was  superfluous ;  that 
where  it  was  wanting,  nothing  else  availed.  So  strongly  did  he 
hold  this,  that  (he  confessed  he  put  it  pointedly,  but  still  not  un- 
truly), where  true  faith  was  present,  a  person  might  be  anything 
in  profession  ;  an  Arminian,  a  Calvinist,  an  Episcopalian,  a  Pres- 
byterian, a  Swedenborgian  —  nay,  a  Unitarian  —  he  would  go 
further,  looking  at  White,  a  Papist,  yet  be  in  a  state  of  salvation. 
Freeborn  came  out  rather  more  strongly  than  in  his  sober 
moments  he  would  have  approved ;  but  he  was  a  little  irritated, 
and  wished  to  have  his  turn  of  speaking.  It  was  altogether  a 
great  testification.  "  Thank  you  for  your  liberality  to  the  poor 
Papists,"  said  White ;  "it  seems  they  are  safe  if  they  are  hypo- 
crites, professing  to  be  Catholics,  while  they  are  Protestants  in 
heart."  "  Unitarians,  too,"  said  Sheffield,  "  are  debtors  to  your 
liberality ;  it  seems  a  man  need  not  fear  to  believe  too  little,  so 
that  he  feels  a  good  deal."  "  Rather,"  said  White,  "  if  he  believes 
himself  forgiven,  he  need  not  believe  any  thing  else."     Reding 


28  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

put  in  his  word ;  he  said  that  in  the  Prayer  book,  belief  in  the 
Holy  Trinity  was  represented,  not  as  an  accident,  but  as  "  before 
all  things  "  necessary  to  salvation.  "  That's  not  a  fair  answer, 
Reding,"  said  Sheffield ;  "  what  Mr.  Freeborn  observed  was,  that 
there's  no  creed  in  the  Bible;  and  you  answer  that  there  is  a 
creed  in  the  Prayer  book."  "  Then  the  Bible  says  one  thing, 
and  the  Prayer  book  another,"  said  Bateman.  "  No,"  answered 
Freeborn  ;  "  the  Prayer  book  only  deduces  from  Scripture ;  the 
Athanasian  Creed  is  a  human  invention ;  true,  but  humaU;  and 
to  be  received,  as  one  of  the  Articles  expressly  says,  because 
*  founded  on  Scripture.'  Creeds  are  useful  in  their  place,  so  is 
the  Church  ;  but  neither  Creed  nor  Church  is  religion."  "  Then 
why  do  you  make  so  much  of  your  doctrine  of  *  faith .  only '?  " 
said  Bateman ;  "  for  that  is  not  in  Scripture,  and  is  but  a  human 
deduction."  "  My  doctrine  !  "  cried  Freeborn ;  "  why  it's  in  the 
Articles  ;  the  Articles  expressly  say  that  we  are  justified  by  faith 
only."  "  The  Articles  are  not  Scripture  any  more  than  the 
Prayer  book,"  said  Sheffield.  "  Nor  do  the  Articles  say  that  the 
doctrine  they  propound  is  necessary  for  salvation,"  added  Bate- 
man. 

All  this  was  very  unfair  on  Freeborn,  though  he  had  provoked 
it.  Here  were  four  persons  on  him  at  once,  and  the  silent  fifth 
apparently  a  sympathizer.  Sheffield  talked  through  malice ; 
White  from  habit ;  Reding  came  in  because  he  could  not  help  it ; 
and  Bateman  spoke  on  principle ;  he  had  a  notion  that  he  was 
improving  Freeborn's  views  by  this  process  of  badgering.  At 
least  he  did  not  improve  his  temper,  which  was  suffisring.  Most 
of  the  party  were  undergraduates  ;  he  (Freeborn)  was  a  Master  : 
it  was  too  bad  of  Bateman.  He  finished  in  silence  his  sausage, 
which  had  got  quite  cold.  The  conversation  flagged ;  there  was 
a  rise  in  toast  and  muffins ;  coffee  cups  were  put  aside,  and  tea 
flowed  freely. 


CHAPTER    VII 


Freeborn  did  not  like  to  be  beaten ;  he  began  again.  Re- 
ligion, he  said,  was  a  matter  of  the  heart ;  no  one  could  interpret 
Scripture  rightly,  whose  heart  was  not  right.    Till  our  eyes  were 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  2^ 

enlightened,  to  dispute  about  the  sense  of  Scripture,  to  attempt 
to  deduce  from  Scripture,  was  beating  about  the  bush :  it  was 
like  the  blind  disputing  about  colors.  "If  this  is  true,"  said 
Bateman,  "  no  one  ought  to  argue  about  religion  at  all ;  but  you 
were  the  first  to  do  so,  Freeborn."  "  Of  course,"  answered 
Freeborn,  "  those  who  have/ow/zc^  the  truth  are  the  very  persons 
to  argue,  for  they  have  the  gift."  "  And  the  very  last  persons  to 
persuade,"  said  Sheffield ;  "  for  they  have  the  gift  all  to  them- 
selves." "Therefore  true  Christians  should  argue  with  each 
other,  and  with  no  one  else,"  said  Bateman.  "  But  those  are 
the  very  persons  who  don't  want  it,"  said  Sheffield ;  "  reasoning 
must  be  for  the  unconverted,  not  for  the  converted.  It  is  the 
means  of  seeking."  Freeborn  persisted  that  the  reason  of  the 
unconverted  was  carnal,  and  that  such  could  not  understand 
Scripture.  "  I  have  always  thought,"  said  Reding,  "  that  reason 
was  a  general  gift,  though  faith  is  a  special  and  personal  one.  If 
faith  is  really  rational,  all  ought  to  see  that  it  is  rational ;  else, 
from  the  nature  of  the  case,  it  is  not  rational."  "  But  St.  Paul 
says,"  answered  Freeborn, "  that '  to  the  natural  man  the  things 
of  the  Spirit  are  foolishness.' "  "  But  how  are  we  to  arrive  at 
truth  at  all,"  said  Reding,  "  except  by  reason  ?  it  is  the  appointed 
method  for  our  guidance.  Brutes  go  by  instinct,  men  by  reason." 
They  had  fallen  on  a  difficult  subject ;  all  were  somewhat 
puzzled  except  White,  who  had  not  been  attending,  and  was 
simply  wearied ;  he  now  interposed.  "  It  would  be  a  dull  world," 
he  said,  "  if  men  went  by  reason :  they  may  think  they  do,  but 
they  don't.  Really,  they  are  led  by  their  feelings,  their  Sections, 
by  the  sense  of  the  beautiful,  and  the  good,  and  the  holy.  Re- 
ligion is  the  beautiful ;  the  clouds,  sun,  and  sky,  the  fields  and 
the  woods,  are  religion."  "  This  would  make  all  religions  true," 
said  Freeborn,  "good  and  bad."  "No,"  answered  White, 
"  heathen  rites  are  bloody  and  impure,  not  beautiful ;  and  Ma- 
hometanism  is  as  cold  and  as  dry  as  any  Calvinistic  meeting.  The 
Mahometans  have  no  altars  or  priests,  nothing  but  a  pulpit  and  a 
preacher."  "  Like  St.  Mary's,"  said  Sheffield.  "  Very  like," 
said  White  ;  "  we  have  no  life  or  poetry  in  the  Church  of  England ; 
the  Catholic  Church  alone  is  beautiful.  You  would  see  what  I 
mean  if  you  went  into  a  foreign  cathedral,  or  even  into  one  of 
the  Catholic  churches  in  our  large  towns.  The  celebrant,  deacon, 
and  subdeacon,  acolytes  with  lights,  the  incense,  and  the  chanting 
— all  combine  to  one  end,  one  act  of  worship.  You  feel  it  is 
3* 


30  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

really  a  worshipping ;  every  sense,  eyes,  ears,  smell,  are  made  to 
know  that  worship  is  going  on.  The  laity  on  the  floor  saying 
their  beads,  or  making  their  acts ;  the  choir  singing  out  the  Kyrie; 
and  the  priest  and  his  assistants  bowing  low,  and  saying  the  Gon- 
Jiteor  to  each  other.  This  is  worship,  and  it  is  far  above  reason." 
This  was  spoken  with  all  his  heart;  but  it  was  quite  out  of  keep- 
ing with  the  conversation  which  had  preceded  it,  and  White's 
poetry  was  almost  as  disagreeable  to  the  party  as  Freeborn's 
prose.  "  White,  you  should  turn  Catholic  out  and  out,"  said 
Sheffield.  "  My  dear  good  fellow,"  said  Bateman,  "  think  what 
you  are  saying.  You  can't  really  have  gone  to  a  schismatical 
chapel,  O,  for  shame  !  "  Freeborn  observed  gravely,  that  if 
the  two  churches  were  one,  as  had  been  maintained,  he  could  not 
see,  do  what  he  would,  why  it  was  wrong  to  go  to  and  fro  from 
one  to  the  other.  "  You  forget,"  said  Bateman  to  White,  "  you 
have,  or  might  have,  all  this  in  your  own  church,  without  the 
Romish  corruptions."  "As  to  the  Romish  corruptions,"  an- 
swered White,  "I  know  very  little  about  them."  Freeborn 
groaned  audibly.  "I  know  very  little  about  them,"  repeated 
White,  eagerly,  "  very  little ;  but  what  is  that  to  the  purpose  ? 
We  must  take  things  as  we  find  them.  I  don't  like  what  is  bad 
in  the  Catholic  Church,  if  there  is  bad,  but  what  is  good.  I  do 
not  go  to  it  for  what  is  bad,  but  for  what  is  good.  You  can't 
deny  that  what  I  admire  is  very  good  and  beautiful.  You  try 
to  introduce  it  into  your  own  church.  You  would  give  your  ears, 
you  know  you  would,  to  hear  the  Dies  irce'^  Here  a  general 
burst  of  laughter  took  place.  White  was  an  Irishman.  It  was 
a  happy  interruption  ;  the  party  rose  up  from  the  table,  and  a 
tap  at  that  minute,  which  sounded  at  the  door,  succeeded  in  sev- 
ering the  thread  of  the  conversation. 

It  was  a  printseller's  man  with  a  large  book  of  plates.  "  Well 
timed,"  said  Bateman  ;  —  "  put  them  down,  Baker :  or  rather 
give  them  me ;  —  I  can  take  the  opinion  of  you  men  on  a  point 
I  have  much  at  heart.  You  know  I  wanted  you,  Freeborn,  to 
go  with  me  to  see  my  chapel ;  Sheffield  and  Reding  have  looked 
into  it.  Well,  now,  just  see  here."  He  opened  the  portfoHo  ;  it 
contained  views  of  the  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa.  The  leaves  were 
slowly  turned  over  in  silence,  the  spectators  partly  admiring, 
partly  not  knowing  what  to  think,  partly  wondering  at  what  was 
coming.  "  What  do  you  think  my  plan  is  ? "  he  continued. 
"  You  twitted  me,  Sheffield,  because  my  chapel  would  be  useless. 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  31 

Now  I  mean  to  get  a  cemetery  attached  to  it ;  there  is  plenty  of 
land  ;  and  then  the  chapel  will  become  a  chantry.  But  now, 
what  will  you  say  if  we  have  a  copy  of  these  splendid  mediaeval 
monuments  round  the  burial-place,  both  sculpture  and  painting  ? 
Now,  Sheffield,  Mr.  Critic,  what  do  you  say  to  that  ?  "  "A  most 
admirable  plan,"  said  Sheffield,  "  and  quite  removes  my  objec- 
tions. *  *  *  A  chantry!  what  is  that?  Don't  they  say 
Mass  in  it  for  the  dead  ?  "  "  O,  no,  no,  no,"  said  Bateman,  in 
fear  of  Freeborn ;  "  we'll  have  none  of  your  Popery.  It  will  be  a 
simple  guileless  chapel,  in  which  the  Church  service  will  be  read." 
Meanwhile  Sheffield  was  slowly  turning  over  the  plates.  He 
stopped  at  one.  "  What  will  you  do  with  that  figure  ?  "  he  said, 
pointing  to  a  drawing  of  the  Madonna.  "  O,  it  will  be  best, 
most  prudent,  to  leave  it  out;  certainly,  certainly."  Sheffield 
soon  began  again  :  "  But  look  here,  my  good  fellow,  what  do  you 
do  with  these  saints  and  angels  ?  Do  see,  why  here's  a  complete 
legend  ;  do  you  mean  to  have  this  ?  Here's  a  set  of  miracles, 
and  a  woman  invoking  a  saint  in  heaven."  Bateman  looked 
cautiously  at  them,  and  did  not  answer.  He  would  have  shut 
the  book,  but  Sheffield  wished  to  see  some  more.  Meanwhile  he 
said,  "  0,  yes,  true,  there  are  some  things ;  but  I  have  an  ex- 
pedient for  all  this;  I  mean  to  make  it  all  allegorical.  The 
Blessed  Virgin  shall  be  the  Church,  and  the  saints  shall  be  car- 
dinal and  other  virtues ;  and  as  to  that  saint's  life,  St.  Ranieri's, 
it  shall  be  a  Catholic  '  Pilgrim's  Progress.' "  "  Good  ;  then  you 
must  drop  all  these  Popes  and  Bishops,  copes,  and  chalices,"  said 
Sheffield ;  "  and  have  their  nam*es  written  under  the  rest,  that 
people  mayn't  take  them  for  saints  and  angels.  Perhaps  you 
had  better  have  scrolls  from  the  mouths,  in  old  English.  This 
St.  Thomas  is  stout ;  make  him  say,  *  I  am  Mr.  Dreadnought,' 
or  '  I  am  Giant  Despair ; '  and,  since  this  beautiful  saint  bears 
a  sort  of  dish,  make  her  *  Mrs.  Creature  Comfort.'  But  look 
here,"  he  continued,  "  a  whole  set  of  devils ;  are  these  to  be 
painted  up?"  Bateman  attempted  forcibly  to  shut  the  book; 
Sheffield  went  on :  "  St.  Anthony's  temptation ;  what's  this  ? 
Here's  the  fiend  in  the  shape  of  a  cat  on  a  wine  barrel."  "  Real- 
ly, really,"  said  Bateman,  disgusted,  and  getting  possession  of  it, 
"you  are  quite  offensive,  quite.  We  will  look  at  them  when 
you  are  more  serious."  Sheffield  indeed  was  very  provoking, 
and  Bateman  more  good  humoured  than  many  persons  would 
have  been  in  his  place.     Meanwhile  Freeborn,  who  had  had  his 


^  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

gown  in  his  hand  the  last  two  minutes,  nodded  to  his  host,  and 
took  his  departure  by  himself;  and  White  and  Willis  soon  fol- 
lowed in  company. 

"  Really,"  said  Bateman  to  Sheffield,  when  they  were  gone, 
*'  you  and  White,  each  in  his  own  way,  are  so  very  rash  in  your 
mode  of  speaking,  and  before  other  people  too.  I  wished  to 
teach  Freeborn  a  little  good  Catholicism,  and  you  have  spoiled 
all.  I  hoped  something  would  have  come  out  of  this  breakfast. 
But  only  think  of  White  !  it  will  all  out.  Freeborn  will  tell  it 
to  his  set.  It  is  very  bad,  very  bad  indeed.  And  you,  my  friend, 
are  not  much  better  ;  never  serious.  What  could  you  mean  by 
saying  that  our  church  is  not  one  with  the  Romish  ?  It  was 
giving  Freeborn  such  an  advantage."  Sheffield  looked  provok- 
ingly  easy ;  and  leaning  with  his  back  against  the  mantle  piece, 
and  his  coat  tail  almost  playing  with  the  spout  of  the  kettle, 
replied,  "You  had  a  most  awkward  team  to  drive."  Then  he 
added,  looking  sideways  at  him,  with  his  head  back,  "  And  why 
had  you,  O  most  correct  of  men,  the  audacity  to  say  that  the 
English  Church  and  the  Roman  Church  were  one  ?  "  "  It  must 
be  so,"  answered  Bateman ;  "  there  is  but  one  church  —  the  Creed 
says  so ;  would  you  make  two ? "  "I  don't  speak  of  doctrine," 
said  Sheffield,  "  but  of  fact.  I  didn't  mean  to  say  that  there 
were  two  churches  ;  nor  to  deny  that  there  was  one  church.  I 
but  denied  the  fact,  that  what  are  evidently  two  bodies  were  one 
body."  Bateman  thought  a  while  ;  and  Charles  employed  him- 
self in  scraping  down  the  soot  from  the  back  of  the  chimney  with 
the  poker.  He  did  not  wish  id  speak ;  but  he  was  not  sorry  to 
listen  to  such  an  argument. 

"  My  good  fellow,"  said  Bateman,  in  a  tone  of  instruction, 
**  you  are  making  a  distinction  between  a  church  and  a  body, 
"which  I  don't  quite  comprehend.  You  say  that  there  are  two 
bodies,  and  yet  but  one  church.  If  so,  the  church  is  not  a  body,  but 
something  abstract,  a  mere  name,  a  general  idea ;  is  that  your 
meaning  ?  if  so,  you  are  an  honest  Calvinist."  "  You  are 
another,"  answered  Sheffield ;  *'  for  if  you  make  two  visible 
churches,  English  and  Romish,  to  be  one  church,  that  one  church 
must  be  invisible,  not  visible.  Thus,  if  I  hold  an  abstract  church, 
you  hold  an  invisible  one."  **I  do  not  §ee  that,"  said  Bateman. 
"  Prove  the  two  churches  to  h^,  one,"  said  Sheffield,  "  and  then 
ril  prove  something  else."  "  Some  paradox/'  said  Bateman. 
"  Of  course,"  answered  Sheffield,  '•  a  huge  one ;  but  your*,  not 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  33 

mine.  Prove  the  English  and  Romish  Churches  to  be  in  any 
sense  one,  and  I  will  prove  by  parallel  arguments  that  in  the 
same  sense  we  and  the  Wesleyans  are  one." 

This  was  a  fair  challenge.  Bateman,  however,  suddenly  put  on 
a  demure  look,  and  was  silent.  "  We  are  on  sacred  subjects,"  he 
said  at  length,  in  a  subdued  tone,  "  we  are  on  very  sacred  subjects; 
we  must  be  reverent,"  and  he  drew  a  very  long  face.  Sheffield 
laughed  out,  nor  could  Reding  stand  it.  "  What  is  it  ?  "  cried 
Sheffield  ;  "  don't  be  hard  with  me  ;  what  have  I  done  ?  Where 
did  the  sacredness  begin  ?  I  eat  my  words."  "  O,  he  meant 
nothing,"  said  Charles,  "  indeed  he  did  not ;  he's  more  serious 
than  he  seems  ;  do  answer  him ;  I  am  interested."  "  Really  I 
do  wish  to  treat  the  subject  gravely,"  said  Sheffield  ;  "  I  will 
begin  again.  I  am  very  sorry,  indeed  I  am.  Let  me  put  the 
objection  more  reverently."  Bateman  relaxed :  "  My  good 
Sheffield,"  he  said,  "  the  thing  is  irreverent,  not  the  manner.  It 
is  irreverent  to  liken  your  holy  mother  to  the  Wesleyan  schis- 
matics." "  I  repent,  I  do  indeed,"  said  Sheffield  ;  "  it  was  a 
wavering  of  faith ;  it  was  very  unseemly,  I  confess  it.  What 
can  I  say  more  ?  Look  at  me ;  won't  this  do  ?  But  now  tell 
me,  do  tell  me,  how  are  we  one  body  with  the  Romanists,  yet 
the  Wesleyans  not  one  body  with  us  ?  "  Bateman  looked  at  him, 
and  was  satisfied  with  the  expression  of  his  face.  "  It's  a  strange 
question  for  you  to  ask,"  he  said  ;  "  I  fancied  you  were  a  sharper 
fellow.  Don't  you  see  that  we  have  the  apostolical  succession 
as  well  as  the  Romanists  ?  "  "  But  Romanists  say,"  answered 
Sheffield,  "  that  that  is  not  enough  for  unity ;  that  we  ought  to  be  in 
communion  with  the  Pope."  "  That's  their  mistake,"  answered 
Bateman.  "  That's  just  what  the  Wesleyans  say  of  us,'*  retorted 
Sheffield,  "  when  we  won't  acknowledge  their  succession ;  they 
say  it's  our  mistake."  "  Their  succession  !  "  cried  Bateman  ; 
"  they  have  no  succession."  "  Yes  they  have,"  said  Sheffield  ; 
"  they  have  a  ministerial  succession."  "  It  isn't  apostolical," 
answered  Bateman.  "  Yes,  but  it  is  evangelical,  a  succession  of 
doctrine,"  said  Sheffield.  "  Doctrine  !  evangelical ! "  cried 
Bateman ;  "  who  ever  heard  !  that's  not  enough  ;  doctrine  is  not 
enough  without  bishops."  "  And  succession  is  not  enough  with- 
out the  Pope,"  answered  Sheffield.  "They  act  against  the 
bishops,"  said  Bateman,  not  quite  seeing  whither  he  "was  going. 
"  And  we  act  against  the  Pope,"  said  Sheffield.  "  We  say  that 
the  Pope  isn't  necessary,"  said  Bateman.  *'  And  they  say  that 
bishops  are  not  necessary,"  returned  Sheffield. 


34  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

They  were  out  of  breath,  and  paused  to  sfie  where  tbey  stood. 
Presently  Bateman  said,  "  My  good  sir,  this  is  a  question  o^  fact, 
not  of  argumentative  cleverness.  The  question  is,  whether  it  is 
r.ot  true  that  Bishops  are  necessary  to  the  notion  of  a  Church, 
and  whether  it  is  not  false  that  Popes  are  necessary."  "  No, 
no,"  said  Sheffield,  "  the  question  is  this,  whether  obedience  to  our 
Bishops  is  not  necessary  to  make  Wesleyans  one  body  with  us, 
and  obedience  to  their  Pope  necessary  to  make  us  one  body  with 
the  Romanists.  You  maintain  the  one,  and  deny  the  other ;  I 
maintain  both.  Maintain  both,  or  deny  both  :  I  am  consistent ; 
you  are  inconsistent."  Bateman  was  puzzled.  "  In  a  word," 
Sheffield  added,  "  succession  is  not  unity,  any  more  than  doctrine." 
"  Not  unity  ?  What  then  is  unity  ?  "  asked  Bateman.  "  One- 
ness of  government,"  answered  Sheffield. 

Bateman  thought  a  while.  "  The  idea  is  preposterous,"  he 
Baid :  "  here  we  have  possession  ;  here  we  are  established  since 
King  Lucius's  time  or  since  St.  Paul  preached  here ;  filling  the 
island ;  one  continuous  Church  ;  with  the  same  territory,  the  same 
succession,  the  same  hierarchy,  the  same  civil  and  political  posi- 
tion, the  same  churches.  Yes,"  he  proceeded,  "  we  have  the  very 
same  fabrics,  the  memorials  of  a  thousand  years,  doctrine  stamped, 
and  perpetuated  in  stone  ;  all  the  mystical  teaching  of  the  old 
saints.  What  have  the  Methodists  to  do  with  Catholic  rites  ? 
with  altars,  with  sacrifice,  with  rood  lofts,  with  fonts,  with  niches  ? 
they  call  it  all  superstition."  "  Don't  be  angry  with  me,  Bateman," 
said  Sheflfteld,  "and,  before  going,  I  will  put  forth  a  parable. 
Here's  the  Church  of  England,  as  like  a  Protestant  Establish- 
ment as  it  can  stare  ;  Bishops  and  people,  all  but  a  few  like  your- 
selves, call  it  Protestant ;  the  living  body  calls  itself  Protestant ; 
the  living  body  abjures  Catholicism,  flings  off  the  name  and  the 
thing,  hates  the  Church  of  Rome,  laughs  at  sacramental  power, 
despises  the  Fathers,  is  jealous  of  priestcraft,  is  a  Protestant 
reality,  is  a  Catholic  sham.  This  existing  reahty,  which  is  alive 
and  no  mistake,  you  wish  to  top  with  a  filigree  work  of  screens, 
dorsals,  pastoral  staffs,  crosiers,  mitres,  and  the  like.  Now,  most 
excellent  Bateman,  will  you  hear  my  parable  ?  will  you  be 
offended  at  it  ?  "  Silence  gave  consent,  and  Sheffield  proceeded. 
"  Why,  once  on  a  time,  a  negro  boy,  when  his  master  was  away, 
stole  into  his  wardrobe,  and  determined  to  make  himself  fine  at 
his  master's  expense.  So  he  was  presently  seen  in  the  streets, 
naked  as  usual,  but  strutting  up  and  down,  with  a  cocked  hat  on 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  35 

his  head,  and  a  pair  of  white  kid  gloves  on  his  hands."  "  Away 
with  you !  get  out,  you  graceless,  hopeless  fellow !  "  said  Bate- 
man,  discharging  the  sofa  bolster  at  his  head.  Meanwhile  Shef- 
field ran  to  the  door,  and  quickly  found  himself  with  Charles  in 
the  street  below. 


CHAPTEE    VIII. 

Sheffield  and  Charles  may  go  their  way ;  but  we  must  fol- 
low White  and  Willis  out  of  Bateman's  lodgings.  It  was  a 
Saint's  day,  and  they  had  no  lectures  ;  they  walked  arm  in  arm 
along  Broad  Street,  evidently  very  intimate,  and  Willis  found 
his  voice ;  "  I  can't  bear  that  Freeborn,"  said  he,  "  he's  such  a 
prig  ;  and  I  like  him  the  less  because  I  am  obliged  to  know  him." 
"  You  knew  him  in  the  country,  I  think  ?  "  said  White.  "  In 
consequence,  he  has  several  times  had  me  to  his  spiritual  tea 
parties,  and  has  introduced  me  to  old  Mr.  Grimes,  a  good,  kind- 
hearted  old  fogie,  but  an  awful  evangelical,  and  his  wife  worse. 
Grimes  is  the  old  original  religious  teaman,  and  Freeborn  imitates 
him.  They  get  together  as  many  men  as  they  can,  perhaps 
twenty,  freshmen,  bachelors,  and  masters,  who  sit  in  a  circle,  with 
cups  and  saucers  in  their  hands  and  hassocks  at  their  knees. 
Some  insufferable  person  of  Capel  Hall  or  St.  Mark's,  who  hardly 
speaks  Enghsh,  under  pretence  of  asking  Mr.  Grimes  some 
divinity  question,  holds  forth  on  original  sin,  or  justification,  or 
assurance,  monopolizing  the  conversation.  Then  teathings  go, 
and  a  '  portion  of  Scripture  '  comes  instead  ;  and  old  Grimes  ex- 
pounds ;  very  good  it  is,  doubtless,  though  he  is  a  layman.  He's 
a  good  old  soul ;  but  no  one  in  the  room  can  stand  it ;  even  Mrs. 
Grimes  nods  over  her  knitting,  and  some  of  the  dear  brothers 
breathe  very  audibly.  Mr.  Grimes,  however,  hears  nothing  but 
himself.  At  length  he  stops  ;  his  hearers  wake  up,  and  the  has- 
socks begin.  Then  we  go  ;  and  Mr.  Grimes  and  St.  Mark's 
man  call  it  a  profitable  evening.  I  can't  make  out  why  any  one 
goes  twice  ;  yet  some  men  never  miss."  "  They  all  go  on  faith," 
said  White  ;  "  faith  in  Mr.  Grimes."  "  Faith  in  old  Grimes  !  " 
said  Willis  ;  "  an  old  half-pay  lieutenant !  "  "  Here's  a  church 
open,"  said  White ;  "  that's  odd  ;  let's  go  in." 


36  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

They  entered  ;  an  old  woman  was  dusting  the  pews  as  if  for 
service.  "  That  will  be  all  set  right,"  said  Willis ;  "  we  must  have 
no  women,  but  sacristans  and  servers."  "  Then,  you  know,  all 
these  pews  will  go  to  the  right  about.  Did  you  ever  see  a  finer 
cnurch  for  a  function  ?  "  "  Where  would  you  put  the  sacristy  ?  " 
said  Willis ;  "  that  closet  is  meant  for  the  vestry,  but  would  never 
be  large  enough."  "  That  depends  on  the  number  of  altars  the 
church  admits,"  answered  White ;  "  each  altar  must  have  its  own 
dresser  and  wardrobe  in  the  sacristy."  "  One,"  said  Willis, 
counting,  "where  the  pulpit  stands,  that'll  be  the  high  altar; 
one  quite  behind,  that  may  be  Our  Lady's ;  two  on  each  side 
the  chancel  —  four  already  ;  to  whom  do  you  dedicate  them  ?  " 
"  The  church  is  not  ■wide  enough  for  those  side  ones,"  objected 
White.  "  O,  but  it  is,"  said  Willis ;  "  I  have  seen,  abroad, 
altars  with  only  one  step  to  them,  and  they  need  not  be  very 
broad.  I  think,  too,  this  wall  admits  of  an  arch  —  look  at  the 
depth  of  the  window  ;  that  would  be  a  gain  of  room."  "  No,'* 
persisted  White  ;  "  the  chancel  is  too  narrow ;  "  and  he  began  to 
measure  the  floor  with  his  pocket  handkerchief:  "  What  should 
you  say  is  the  depth  of  an  altar  from  the  wall  ?  "  he  asked. 

On  looking  up  he  saw  some  ladies  in  the  church  whom  he  and 
Willis  knew  —  the  pretty  Miss  Boltons  —  very  Catholic  girls, 
and  really  kind,  charitable  persons  into  the  bargain.  We  cannot 
add,  that  they  were  much  wiser  at  that  time  tlian  the  two  young 
gentlemen  whom  they  now  encountered ;  and  if  any  fair  reader 
thinks  our  account  of  them  a  reflection  on  Catholic- minded  ladies 
generally,  we  beg  distinctly  to  say,  that  we  by  no  means  put  them 
forth  as  a  type  of  a  class  ;  that  among  such  persons  were  to  be 
found,  as  we  know  well,  the  gentlest  spirits  and  the  tenderest 
hearts  ;  and  that  nothing  short  of  severe  fidelity  to  historical 
truth  keeps  us  from  adorning  these  two  young  persons  in  par- 
ticular with  that  prudence  and  good  sense  with  which  so  many 
such  ladies  were  endowed.  These  two  sisters  had  open  hands, 
if  they  had  not  wise  heads ;  and  their  object  in  entering  the  church 
(which  was  not  the  church  of  their  own  parish)  was  to  see  the  old 
woman,  who  was  at  once  a  subject  and  organ  of  their  bounty,  and 
to  say  a  word  abouth  er  little  grandchildren,  in  whom  they  were 
interested.  As  may  be  supposed,  they  did  not  know  much  of 
matters  ecclesiastical,  and  they  knew  less  of  themselves  ;  and  the 
latter  defect  White  could  not  supply,  though  he  was  doing,  and 
had  done,  his  best  to  remedy  the  former  deficiency ;  and  every 
meeting  did  a  little 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  37 

The  two  parties  left  the  church  together,  and  the  gentlemen 
saw  the   ladies  home.      «  We  were  imagining,   Miss  Bolton," 
White  said,  walking  at  a  respectful  distance  from  her,  «  we  were 
imagining  St.  James's  a  Catholic  church,  and  trying  to  arrancre 
things  as  they  ought  to  be."     «  What  was  your  first  reform  ^" 
asked  Miss  Bolton.     «I  fear,"  answered  White,  « it  would  fare 
W  with  your  protegee,  the  old  lady  who  dusts  out  the  pews." 
Why,  certainly,"  said  Miss  Bolton,   «  because  there  would  be 
no  pews  to  dust."     "But  not  only  in  office,  but  in  person,  or 
rather  in  character,  she  must  make  her  exit  from  the  church  " 
said  White.     "  Impossible,"  said  Miss  Bolton ;  "are  women  then 
to  remam   Protestants.^"       «0,  no,"   answered   White,    "the 
good  lady  will  reappear  only  in  another  character;  she  will  be 
a  widow.        "And   who  will  take   her  present   placed"     "A 
sacristan,"  answered  White;  "a  sacristan  in  ^  cotta.     Do  you 
like  the  short  cotta  or  the  long?"  he  continued,  turning  to  the 
younger  lady.     « I?  "  answered  Miss  Charlotte  ;  "  I  always  for- 
get, but  I  think  you  told  us  the  Roman  was  the  short  one  ;  I'm 
for  the  short  cotta."     "  You  know,  Charlotte,"  said  Miss  Bolton, 
that  there  s  a  great  reform  going  on  in  England  in  ecclesiastical 
vestments.       "I  hate  all  reforms,"  answered  Charlotte,  "from 
the  Reformation  downwards.     Besides,  we  haye  got  some  way  in 
our  cope ;  you  have  seen  it,  Mr.  White  ?  it's  such  a  sweet  pat- 
tern._      "Have  you  determined  what  to  do  with   it?"   asked 
VVilhs.     "  Time  enough  to  think  of  that,"  said  Charlotte ;  "  it'll 
take  four  years  to  finish."     "  Four  years  !  "  cried  White  ;  "  we 
shall  be  all  real  Catholics  by  then  ;  England  will  be  converted." 
It  will  be  done  just  in  time  for  the   bishop,"  said  Charlotte. 
O,  Its  not  good  enough  for  him,"  said  Mss  Bolton;  "but  it 
""•^f  u    t  '"  ''^"'^^  ^^'"  ^^^  Asperges.     How  different  all  things 
will  be  !     continued  she  ;  *'  yet  I  don't  quite  like,  though,  the  idea 
of  a  cardinal  in  Oxford.     Must  we  be  so  very  Roman  ?     I  don't 
see  why  we   might  not   be  quite  Catholic  without   the    Pope" 
•  O,  you  need  not  be  afraid,"  said  White,  sagely ;  "  things  don't  go 
so  apace.     Cardinals  are  not  so  cheap."     "  Cardinafs  have  %o 
much  state  and  stiffness,"  said  Miss  Bolton ;  "  I  hear  they  never 
walk  without  two  servants  behind  them;  and  they  always  leave 
the  room  directly  dancing  begins."     "  Well,  I  think  Oxford  must 
be  just  cut  out  for  cardinals,"  said  Miss  Charlotte  ;    "  can  any 
thing  be  duller  than  the  Presicent's  parties  ?     I  can  fancy  Dr. 
Bone  a  cardinal,  as  he  walks  round  the  parks."     "O,  it's  the 
4 


38  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

genius  of  the  Catholic  Church,"  said  White  ;  "  you  will  under- 
stand it  better  in  time.  No  one  is  his  own  master ;  even  the 
Pope  cannot  do  as  he  will ;  he  dines  by  himself,  and  speaks  by 
precedent."  "  Of  course  he  does,"  said  Charlotte,  "  for  he  is  in- 
fallible." "Nay,  if  he  makes  mistakes  in  the  functions,"  con- 
tinued White,  "he  is  obliged  to  write  them  down  and  confess 
them,  lest  they  should  be  drawn  into  precedents."  "  And  he  is 
obliged,  during  a  function,  to  obey  the  master  of  ceremonies, 
against  his  own  judgment,"  said  Willis.  "  Didn't  you  say  the 
Pope  confessed,  Mr.  White  ?  "  asked  Miss  Bolton ;  "  it  has  always 
puzzled  me  whether  the  Pope  was  obliged  to  confess  like  another 
man."  "  0,  certainly,"  answered  White,  "  every  one  confesses." 
"  Well,"  said  Charlotte,  "  I  can't  fancy  Mr.  Hurst  of  St.  Peter's, 
who  comes  here  to  sing  glees,  confessing,  or  some  of  the  grave 
heads  of  houses,  who  bow  so  stiffly."  "  They  will  all  have  to 
confess,"  said  White.  "All?  "asked  Miss  Bolton;  "you  don't 
mean  converts  confess  ?  I  thought  it  was  only  old  Catholics." 
There  was  a  little  pause. 

"And  what  will  the  heads  of  houses  be?"  asked  Miss  Char- 
lotte. "  Abbots  or  superiors,"  answered  White ;  "  they  will  bear 
crosses  ;  and  when  they  say  Mass,  there  will  be  a  lighted  candle 
in  addition."  "  What  a  good  portly  abbot  the  Vice  Chancellor 
will  make  ! "  said  Miss  Bolton.  "  O,  no  ;  he's  too  short  for  an 
abbot,"  said  her  sister ;  "  but  you  have  left  out  the  Chancellor 
himself :  you  seem  to  have  provided  for  every  one  else ;  what 
will  become  of  him?"  "The  Chancellor  is  my  difficulty,"  said 
White,  gravely.  "  Make  him  a  Knight  Templar,"  said  Willis. 
"  The  Duke's  a  queer  hand,"  said  White,  still  thoughtfully ; 
"there's  no  knowing  what  he'll  come  to.  A  Knight  Templar  — 
yes ;  Malta  is  now  English  property ;  he  might  revive  the 
order."  The  ladies  both  laughed.  "  But  you  have  not  com- 
pleted your  plan,  Mr.  White,"  said  Miss  Bolton :  "  the  heads 
of  houses  have  got  wives ;  how  can  they  become  monks  ? " 
"  0,  the  wives  will  go  into  convents,"  said  White  :  "  Willis 
and  1  have  been  making  inquiries  in  the  High  Street,  and  they 
are  most  satisfactory.  Some  of  the  houses  there  were  once  uni- 
versity halls  and  inns,  and  will  easily  turn  back  into  convents  : 
all  that  \\'ill  be  wanted  is  grating  to  the  windows."  "  Have  you 
any  notion  what  order  they  ought  to  join  ?  "  said  Miss  Charlotte. 
"  That  depends  on  themselves,"  said  White ;  "  no  compulsion 
whatever  must  be  put  on  them.     Th&y  are  the  judges.     But  it 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  39 

would  be  useful  ho  have  two  convents  —  one  of  an  active  order, 
and  one  contemplative  :  Ursuline,  for  instance,  and  Carmelite  of 
St.  Theresa's  reform." 

Hitherto  their  conversation  had  been  on  the  verge  of  jest  and 
earnest ;  now  it  took  a  more  pensive,  or  even  tenderer  tone.  "  The 
nuns  of  St.  Theresa  are  very  strict,  I  believe,  Mr.  White,"  said 
Miss  Bolton.  "  Yes,"  he  made  reply ;  "  I  have  fears  for  the 
Mrs.  Wardens  and  Mrs.  Principals  who  undertake  it."  "  Per- 
haps younger  persons,"-  she  said  timidly,  "  might  more  fitly  lead 
the  way."  They  had  got  home,  and  White  politely  rang  the 
bell.  "  Younger  persons,"  said  White, "  are  too  delicate  for  such 
a  sacrifice."  She  was  silent ;  presently  she  said, "  And  what  will 
you  be,  Mr.  White  ? "  "I  know  not,"  he  answered ;  "  I  have 
thought  of  the  Cistercians :  they  never  speak."  "  O,  the  dear 
Cistercians  !  "  she  said ;  "  St.  Bernard,  wasn't  it  ?  —  sweet, 
heavenly  man,  and  so  young !  I  have  seen  his  picture :  such 
eyes !  "  White  was  a  good-looking  man.  The  nun  and  monk 
looked  at  each  other  very  respectfully,  and  bowed  ;  the  other 
pair  went  through  a  similar  ceremony  ;  then  it  was  performed 
diagonally.  The  two  ladies  entered  their  home  ;  the  two  gen- 
tlemen retired. 

We  must  follow  the  former  up  stairs.  When  they  entered 
the  drawing  room,  they  found  their  mother  sitting  at  the  window 
in  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  dipping  into  a  chance  volume  in  that 
unsettled  state  which  implies  that  a  person  is  occupied,  if  it  may 
be  so  called,  in  waiting,  more  than  in  any  thing  else.  "  My  dear 
children,"  she  said  as  they  entered,  "  where  have  you  been  ?  the 
bells  have  stopped  a  good  quarter  of  an  hour :  I  fear  we  must 
give  up  going  to  church  this  morning."  "  Impossible,  dear  mam- 
ma," answered  Miss  Bolton  ;  "  we  went  out  punctually  at  half 
past  nine  :  we  did  not  stop  two  minutes  at  your  worsted  shop ; 
and  here  we  are  back  again."  "  'The  only  thing  we  did  besides," 
said  Charlotte,  "  was  to  look  in  at  St.  James's,  as  the  door  was 
open,  to  say  a  word  or  two  to  poor  old  Wiggins.  Mr.  White 
was  there,  and  his  friend  Mr.  Willis ;  and  they  saw  us  home." 
"  O,  I  understand,"  answered  Mrs.  Bolton  ;  "  that  is  the  way 
when  young  gentlemen  and  ladies  get  together  :  but,  at  any  rate, 
we  are  late  for  church."  "  O,  no,"  said  Charlotte,  "  let  us  set 
out  directly ;  we  shall  get  in  by  the  first  lesson."  "  My  dear 
child,  how  can  you  propose  such  a  thing  ?  "  said  her  mother  ;  "  I 
would  not  do  so  for  any  consideration  ;  it  is  so  very  disgraceful. 


40  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

Better  not  go  at  all."  "  O,  dearest  mamma,"  said  the  elder  sis- 
ter, "  this  certainly  is  a  prejudice.  Why  always  come  in  at  one 
time  ?  there  is  something  so  formal  in  people  coming  in  all  at 
once,  and  waiting  for  each  other.  It  is  surely  more  reasonable 
to  come  in  when  you  can  :  so  many  things  may  hinder  persons." 
"  "Well,  my  dear  Louisa,"  said  her  mother,  "  I  like  the  old  way. 
It  used  always  to  be  said  to  us,  Be  in  your  seats  before  '  When 
the  wicked  man,'  and  at  latest  before  the  '  Dearly  beloved.* 
That's  the  good  old-fashioned  way.  And  Mr.  Jones  and  Mr.  Pear- 
son used  always  to  sit  at  least  five  minutes  in  the  desk  to  give  us 
some  law,  and  used  to  look  round  before  beginning;  and  Mr. 
Jones  used  frequently  to  preach  against  late  comers.  I  can't 
argue,  but  it  seems  to  me  reasonable  that  good  Christians  should 
hear  the  whole  service.  They  might  as  well  go  out  before  it's 
over."  "  Well,  but,  mamma,"  said  Charlotte,  "  so  it  is  abroad  : 
they  come  in  and  go  out  when  they  please.  It's  so  devotional." 
"My  dear  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Bolton,  "  I  am  too  old  to  understand 
all  this  ;  it's  beyond  me.  I  suppose  Mr.  White  has  been  say- 
ing all  this  to  you.  He's  a  good  young  man,  very  amiable  and 
attentive.  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  him,  except  that  he  is' 
young,  and  he'll  change  his  view  of  things  when  he  gets  older." 
"  While  we  talk,  time's  going,"  said  Louisa ;  "  is  it  quite  impos- 
sible we  should  still  go  to  church  ?  "  "  My  dear  Louisa,  I  would 
not  walk  up  the  aisle  for  the  world ;  positively  I  should  sink  in- 
to the  earth:  such  a  bad  example.  How  can  you  dream  of 
such  a  thing  ?  "  "  Then  I  suppose  nothing's  to  be  done,"  said 
Louisa,  taking  off  her  bonnet;  "but  really  it  is  very  sad  to 
make  worship  so  cold  and  formal  a  thing.  Twice  as  many  peo- 
ple would  go  to  church  if  they  might  be  late."  "  Well,  my  dear, 
all  things  are  changed  now :  in  my  younger  days,  Catholics  were 
the  formal  people,  and  we  were  the  devotional ;  now  it's  just  the 
reverse."  "  But  isn't  it  so,  dear  mamma  ? "  said  Charlotte ; 
"isn't  it  something  much  more  beautiful,  this  continued  con- 
course, flowing  and  ebbing,  changing  yet  full,  than  a  way  of 
praying  which  is  as  wooden  as  the  reading  desk  ?  —  it's  so  free 
and  natural."  "  Free  and  easy,  /think,"  said  her  mother  ;  "  for 
shame,  Charlotte !  how  can  you  speak  against  the  beautiful 
Church  service  !  you  pain  me."  "  I  don't,"  answered  Charlotte ; 
"  it's  a  mere  puritanical  custom,  which  is  no  more  part  of  our 
church  than  the  pews  are."  "  Common  prayer  is  offered  to  all 
who  can  come,"  said  Louisa ;   "  church  should  be  a  privilege, 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  41 

not  a  mere  duty."  *'  Well,  my  dear  love,  this  is  more  than  I  can 
follow.  There  was  young  George  Ashton  —  he  always  left  be- 
fore the  sermon ;  and  when  taxed  with  it,  he  said  he  could  not 
bear  an  heretical  preacher :  a  boy  of  eighteen  ! "  "  But,  dear- 
est mamma,"  said  Charlotte,  "  what  is  to  be  done  when  a  preach- 
er is  heretical  ?  what  else  can  be  done  ?  —  it's  so  distressing  to 
a  Catholic  mind."  ''  Catholic,  Catholic !  "  cried  Mrs.  Bolton, 
rather  vexed ;  "  give  me  good  old  George  the  Third  and  the 
Protestant  religion.  Those  were  the  times  !  Every  thing  went 
on  quietly  then.  We  had  no  disputes  or  divisions  ;  no  differ- 
ences in  families.  But  now  it  is  all  otherwise..  My  head  is 
turned,  I  declare ;  I  hear  so  many  strange,  out-of-the-way  things." 
The  young  ladies  did  not  answer ;  one  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow, the  other  prepared  to  leave  the  room.  "  Well,  it's  a  disap- 
pointment to  us  all,"  said  their  mother  ;  "you  first  hindered  me 
going,  then  I  have  hindered  you.  But  I  suspect,  dear  Louisa, 
mine  is  the  greater  disappointment  of  the  two."  Louisa  turned 
round  from  the  window.  "  I  value  the  Prayer  book  as  you  can- 
not do,  my  love,"  she  continued ;  "  for  I  have  known  what  it  is 
to  one  in  deep  affliction.  May  it  be  long,  dearest  girls,  before 
you  know  it  in  a  similar  way ;  but  if  affliction  comes  on  you, 
depend  on  it,  all  these  new  fancies  and  fashions  will  vanish  from 
you  like  the  wind,  and  the  good  old  Prayer  book  alone  will  stand 
you  in  any  stead."  They  were  both  touched.  "  Come,  my 
dears  ;  I  have  spoken  too  seriously,"  she  added.  "  Go  and  take 
your  things  off,  and  come  and  let  us  have  some  quiet  work  before 
luncheon  time." 


CHAPTER    IX. 


Some  persons  fidget  at  intellectual  difficulties,  and,  successfully 
or  not,  are  ever  trying  to  solve  them.  Charles  was  of  a  differ- 
ent cast  of  temper ;  a  new  idea  was  not  lost  on  him,  but  it  did 
not  distress  him,  if  it  was  obscure,  or  confflcted  with  his  habitual 
view  of  things.  He  let  it  work  its  way  and  find  its  place,  and 
shape  itself  within  him,  by  the  slow  spontaneous  action  of  the 
mind.  Yet  perplexity  is  not  in  itself  a  pleasant  state ;  and  he 
would  have  hastened  its  removal,  had  he  been  able. 
4* 


42  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

By  means  of  conversations,  sucb  as  those  which  we  have  re- 
lated (to  which  many  others  might  be  added,  which  we  spare  the 
reader's  patience),  and  from  the  diversities  of  view  which  he  met 
with  in  the  University,  he  had  now  come,  in  the  course  of  a  year, 
to  one  or  two  conclusions,  not  very  novel,  but  very  important :  — 
first,  that  there  are  a  great  many  opinions  in  the  world  on  the 
most  momentous  subjects ;  secondly,  that  all  are  not  equally  true ; 
thirdly,  that  it  is  a  duty  to  hold  true  opinions ;  and  fourthly,  that 
it  is  uncommonly  difficult  to  get  hold  of  them.  He  had  been  ac- 
customed, as  we  have  seen,  to  fix  his  mind  on  persons,  not  on 
opinions,  and  to  determine  to  like  what  was  good  in  every  one  ; 
but  he  had  now  come  to  perceive  that,  to  say  the  least,  it  was 
not  respectable  to  hold  false  opinions.  It  did  not  matter  that 
such  false  opinions  were  sincerely  held,  —  he  could  not  feel  that 
respect  for  a  person  who  held  what  Sheffield  called  a  sham,  with 
which  he  regarded  him  who  held  a  reality.  White  and  Bateman 
were  cases  in  point :  they  were  very  good  fellows,  but  he  could 
not  endure  their  unreal  way  of  talking,  though  they  did  not  feel 
it  to  be  unreal  themselves.  In  like  manner,  if  the  Roman  Cath- 
olic system  was  untrue,  so  far  was  plain  (putting  aside  higher 
considerations),  that  a  person  who  believed  in  the  power  of 
saints,  and  prayed  to  them,  was  an  actor  in  a  great  sham,  let  him 
be  as  sincere  as  he  would.  He  mistook  words  for  things,  and  so 
far  forth,  he  could  not  respect  him  more  than  he  respected  White 
or  Bateman.  And  so  of  a  Unitarian ;  if  he  believed  the  power 
of  unaided  human  nature  to  be  what  it  was  not ;  if  by  birth  man 
is  fallen,  and  he  thought  him  upright,  he  was  holding  an  absurdi- 
ty. He  might  redeem  and  cover  this  blot  by  a  thousand  excel- 
lences, but  a  blot  it  would  remain  ;  just  as  we  should  feel  a  hand- 
some man  disfigured  by  the  loss  of  an  eye  or  a  hand.  And  so 
again,  if  a  professing  Christian  made  the  Almighty  a  being  of 
simple  benevolence,  and  He  was,  on  the  contrary,  what  the 
Church  of  England  teaches,  a  God  who  punishes  for  the  sake 
of  justice,  such  a  person  was  making  an  idol  or  unreality  the 
object  of  his  religion,  and  (apart  from  more  serious  thoughts 
about  him),  he  could  not  respect  him.  Thus  the  principle  of 
dogmatism  gradually  became  an  essential  element  in  Charles's 
religious  views. 

Gradually,  and  imperceptibly  to  himself;  for  the  thoughts 
which  we  have  been  tracing  only  came  on  him  at  spare  times, 
and  were  taken  up  at  intervals  from  the  point  at  which  they 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  43 

were  laid  down.  His  lectures  and  other  duties  of  the  place,  his 
friends  and  recreations,  were  the  staple  of  the  day  ;  but  there 
was  this  under  current,  ever  in  motion,  and  sounding  in  his 
mental  ear  as  soon  as  other  sounds  were  hushed.  As  he  dressed 
in  the  morning,  as  he  sat  under  the  beeches  of  his  college  garden, 
when  he  strolled  into  the  meadow,  when  he  went  into  the  town 
to  pay  a  bill  or  make  a  call,  when  he  threw  himself  on  his  sofa 
after  shutting  his  oak  at  night,  thoughts  cognate  with  those  which 
have  been  described  were  busy  within  him. 

Discussions,  however,  and  inquiries,  as  far  as  Oxford  could 
afford  matter  for  them,  were  for  a  while  drawing  to  an  end ;  for 
Trinity-tide  was  now  past,  and  the  Commemoration  was  close  at 
hand.  On  the  Sunday  before  it,  the  University  sermon  happened 
to  be  preached  by  a  distinguished  person,  whom  that  solemnity 
brought  up  to  Oxford ;  no  less  a  man  than  the  Very  Rev.  Dr. 
Brownside,  the  new  Dean  of  Nottingham,  some  time  Huntingdo- 
nian  Professor  of  Divinity,  and  one  of  the  acutest,  if  not  soundest, 
academical  thinkers  of  the  day.  He  was  a  little,  prim,  smirking, 
bespectacled  man,  bald  in  front,  with  curly  black  hair  behind, 
somewhat  pompous  in  his  manner,  with  a  clear  musical  utter- 
ance, which  enabled  one  to  listen  to  him  without  effort.  As  a 
divine,  he  seemed  never  to  have  had  any  difficulty  on  any  sub- 
ject ;  he  was  so  clear  or  so  shallow,  that  he  saw  to  the  bottom  of 
all  his  thoughts  ;  or,  since  Dr.  Johnson  tells  us  that  "  all  shallows 
are  clear,"  we  may  perhaps  distinguish  him  by  both  epithets. 
Revelation  to  him,  instead  of  being  the  abyss  of  God's  counsels, 
with  its  dim  outlines  and  broad  shadows,  was  a  flat  sunny  plain, 
laid  out  with  straight  macadamized  roads.  Not,  of  course,  that 
he  denied  the  divine  incomprehensibility  itself,  with  certain 
heretics  of  old ;  but  he  maintained  that  in  Revelation  all  that 
was  mysterious  had  been  left  out,  and  nothing  given  us  but  what 
was  practical,  and  directly  concerned  us.  It  was,  moreover,  to 
liim  a  marvel,  that  every  one  did  not  agree  with  him  in  taking 
this  simple,  natural  view,  which  he  thought  almost  self-evident ; 
and  he  attributed  the  phenomenon,  which  was  by  no  means  un- 
common, to  some  want  of  clearness  of  head,  or  twist  of  mind,  as 
the  case  might  be.  He  was  a  popular  preacher ;  that  is,  though 
he  had  few  followers,  he  had  numerous  hearers ;  and  on  this  oc- 
casion the  church  was  overflowing  with  the  young  men  of  the 
place. 

He  began  his  sermon  by  observing,  that  it  was  not  a  little 


44  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

remarkable  that  there  were  so  few  good  reasoners  in  the  world, 

considering  that  the  discursive  faculty  was  one  of  the  character- 
istics of  man's  nature,  as  contrasted  with  brute  animals.  It  had 
indeed  been  said  that  brutes  reasoned  ;  but  this  was  an  analogi- 
cal sense  of  the  word  "  reason,"  and  an  instance  of  that  very  am- 
biguity of  language,  or  confusion  of  thought,  on  which  he  was 
animadverting.  In  like  manner,  we  say  that  the  reason  why 
the  wind  blows  is,  that  there  is  a  change  of  temperature  in  the 
atmosphere  ;  and  the  reason  why  the  bells  ring  is,  because  the 
ringers  pull  them ;  but  who  would  say  that  the  wind  reasons  or 
that  bells  reason  ?  There  was,  he  believed,  no  well-ascertained 
fact  (an  emphasis  on  the  word /ctc^)  of  brutes  reasoning.  It  had 
been  said,  indeed,  that  that  sagacious  animal,  the  dog,  if,  in  track- 
ing his  master,  he  met  three  ways,  after  smelling  the  two,  boldly 
pursued  the  third  without  any  such  previous  investigation ; 
which,  if  true,  would  be  an  instance  of  a  disjunctive  hypotheti- 
cal syllogism.  Also  Dugald  Stewart  spoke  of  the  case  of  a 
monkey  cracking  nuts  behind  a  door,  which,  not  being  a  strict 
imitation  of  any  thing  which  he  could  have  actually  seen,  im- 
plied an  operation  of  abstraction,  by  which  the  clever  brute  had 
first  ascended  to  the  general  notion  of  nut  crackers,  which  per- 
haps he  had  seen  in  a  particular  instance,  in  silver  or  in  steel, 
at  his  master's  table,  and  then  descending,  had  imbodied  it,  thus 
obtained,  in  the  shape  of  an  expedient  of  his  own  devising. 
This  was  what  had  been  said :  however,  he  might  assume  on  the 
present  occasion,  that  the  faculty  of  reasoning  was  characteristic 
of  the  human  species  ;  and  this  being  the  case,  it  certainly  was 
remarkable  that  so  few  persons  reasoned  well. 

After  this  introduction,  he  proceeded  to  attribute  to  this  defect 
the  number  of  religious  differences  in  the  world.  He  said  that 
the  most  celebrated  questions  in  religion  were  but  verbal  ones  ; 
that  the  disputants  did  not  know  their  own  meaning  or  that  of 
their  opponents ;  and  that  a  spice  of  good  logic  would  have  put 
an  end  to  dissensions,  which  had  troubled  the  world  for  centu- 
ries, —  would  have  prevented  many  a  bloody  war,  many  a  fierce 
anathema,  many  a  savage  execution,  and  many  a  ponderous 
folio.  He  went  on  to  imply  that  in  fact  there  was  no  truth  or 
falsehood  in  the  received  dogmas  in  theology  ;  that  they  were 
modes,  neither  good  nor  bad  in  themselves,  but  personal,  nation- 
al, or  periodic,  in  which  the  intellect  reasoned  upon  the  great 
truths  of  religion ;  that  the  fault  lay,  not  in  holding  them,  but 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  45 

in  insisting  on  them,  which  was  like  insisting  on  a  Hindoo 
dressing  like  a  Fin,  or  a  regiment  of  dragoons  using  the 
boomarang. 

He  proceeded  to  observe,  that  from  what  he  had  said,  it  was 
plain  in  what  point  of  view  the  Anglican  formularies  were  to  be 
regarded ;  viz.,  they  were  our  mode  of  expressing  everlasting 
truths,  which  might  be  as  well  expressed  in  other  ways,  as  any 
correct  thinker  would  be  able  to  see.  Nothing,  then,  was  to  be 
altered  in  them ;  they  were  to  be  retained  in  their  integrity ; 
but  it  was  ever  to  be  borne  in  mind  that  they  were  Anglican 
theology,  not  theology  in  the  abstract;  and  that,  though  the 
Athanasian  creed  was  good  for  us,  it  did  not  follow  that  it  was 
good  for  our  neighbors;  rather,  that  what  seemed  the  very 
reverse  might  suit  others  better,  might  be  their  mode  of  ex- 
pressing the  same  truths. 

He  concluded  with  one  word  in  favor  of  Nestorius,  two  for 
Abelard,  three  for  Luther,  "  that  great  mind,"  as  he  worded  it, 
"  who  saw  that  churches,  creeds,  rites,  persons,  were  nought  in 
religion,  and  that  the  inward  spirit,  faith"  as  he  himself  expressed 
it,  "  was  all  in  all ; "  and  with  a  hint,  that  nothing  would  go  well 
in  the  University  till  this  great  principle  was  so  far  admitted, 
that  they  should  —  not  indeed,  give  up  their  own  distinctive 
formularies,  no  —  but  consider  their  direct  contradictories  equal- 
ly pleasing  to  the  divine  Author  of  Christianity. 

Charles  did  not  understand  the  full  drift  of  the  sermon  ;  but 
he  understood  enough  to  make  him  feel  that  it  was  different 
from  any  sermon  he  had  heard  in  his  life.  He  more  than 
doubted,  whether,  if  his  good  father  had  heard  it,  he  would  not 
have  made  it  an  exception  to  his  favorite  dictum.  He  came 
away  marvelling  with  himself  what  the  preacher  could  mean, 
and  whether  he  had-  misunderstood  him.  Did  he  mean  that 
Unitarians  were  only  bad  reasoners,  and  might  be  as  good 
Christians  as  orthodox  believers  ?  He  could  mean  nothing  else. 
But  what  if,  after  all,  he  was  right  ?  He  indulged  the  thought 
a  while.  Then  every  one  is  what  Sheffield  calls  a  sham,  more 
or  less  ;  and  we  need  not  be  annoyed  at  any  one.  Then  I  was 
right  originally  in  wishing  to  take  every  one  for  what  he  was. 
Let  me  think  ;  every  one  a  sham  *  *  *  shams  are  respec- 
table, or  rather  no  one  is  respectable.  We  can't  do  without  some 
outward  form  of  belief ;  one  is  not  truer  than  another ;  that  is,  all 
are  equally  true     *     *     *     JJi  are  true     *     *     *     That  is  the 


46  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

belter  way  of  taking  it ;  none  are  shams,  all  are  true.  All  are 
true  I  impossible  ;  one  as  true  as  another  !  why  then  it  is  as  true 
that  our  Lord  is  a  mere  man,  as  that  He  is  God.  He  could  not 
possibly  mean  this ;  what  did  he  mean  ? 

So  Charles  went  on,  painfully  perplexed,  yet  out  of  this  per- 
plexity two  convictions  came  upon  him,  the  first  of  them  painful 
too  ;  that  he  could  not  take  for  gospel  every  thing  that  was  said 
even  by  authorities  of  the  place  and  divines  of  name ;  and  next, 
that  his  former  amiable  feeling  of  taking  every  one  for  what  he 
was,  was  a  dangerous  one,  leading  with  little  difficulty  to  a  suf- 
ferance of  every  sort  of  belief,  and  legitimately  terminating  in 
the  sentiment  expressed  in  Pope's  Universal  Prayer,  which  his 
father  had  always  held  up  to  him  as  a  pattern  specimen  of  shal- 
low philosophism :  — 

"  Father  of  all,  in  every  age, 
In  every  clime  adored, 
By  saint,  by  savage,  and  by  sage, 
Jehovah,  Jove,  or  Lord." 


CHAPTER    X. 


Charles  went  up  this  term  for  his  first  examination,  and  this 
caused  him  to  remain  in  Oxford  some  days  after  the  undergrad- 
uate part  of  his  college  had  left  for  the  Long  Vacation.  Thus 
he  came  across  Mr.  Vincent,  one  of  the  junior  tutors,  who  was 
kind  enough  to  ask  him  to  dine  in  Common  room  on  Sunday, 
and  on  several  mornings  made  him  take  some  turns  with  him  up 
and  down  the  Fellows'  walk  in  the  college  garden. 

A  few  years  made  a  great  difference  in  the  standing  of  men 
at  Oxford,  and  this  made  Mr.  Vincent  what  is  called  a  don  in 
the  eyes  of  persons  who  were  very  little  younger  than  iiimself. 
Besides,  Vincent  looked  much  older  than  he  really  was ;  he  was 
of  a  full  habit,  with  a  florid  complexion  and  large  blue  eyes, 
and  showed  a  deal  of  linen  at  his  bosom,  and  full  wristbands  at 
his  cuffs.  Though  a  clever  man,  and  a  hard  reader  and  worker, 
and  a  capital  tutor,  he  was  a  good  feeder  as  well ;  he  ate  and 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  47 

drank,  he  walked  and  rode,  with  as  much  heart  as  he  lectured  in 
Aristotle,  or  crammed  in  Greek  plays.  What  is  stranger  still, 
with  all  this  he  was  something  of  a  valetudinarian.  He  had 
come  oflf  from  school  on  a  foundation  fellowship,  and  had  the 
reputation  both  at  school  and  in  the  University  of  being  a  first- 
rate  scholar.  He  was  a  strict  disciplinarian  in  his  way,  had  the 
undergraduates  under  his  thumb,  and  having  some  bonhommie 
in  his  composition,  was  regarded  by  them  with  mingled  feelings 
of  fear  and  good  will.  They  laughed  at  him,  but  carefully 
obeyed  him.  Besides  this,  he  preached  a  good  sermon,  read 
prayers  with  unction,  and  in  his  conversation  sometimes  had 
even  a  touch  of  evangelical  spirituaUty.  The  young  men  even 
declared  they  could  tell  how  much  port  he  had  taken  in  Com- 
mon room  by  the  devoutness  of  his  responses  in  evening  chapel ; 
and  it  was  on  record  that  once,  during  the  Confession,  he  had, 
in  the  heat  of  his  contrition,  shoved  over  the  huge  velvet  cushion 
in  which  his  elbows  were  embedded  upon  the  heads  of  the  gen- 
tlemen commoners  who  sat  under  him. 

He  had  just  so  much  originality  of  mind  as  gave  him  an  ex- 
cuse for  being  "  his  own  party  "  in  religion,  or  what  he  himself 
called  being  "  no  party  man ;  "  and  just  so  little  that  he  was  ever 
mistaking  shams  for  truths,  and  converting  pompous  nothings 
into  oracles.  He  was  oracular  in  his  manner,  denounced  parties 
and  party  spirit,  and  thought  to  avoid  the  one  and  the  other,  by 
eschewing  all  persons,  and  holding  all  opinions.  He  had  a  great 
idea  of  the  via  media  being  the  truth  ;  and  to  obtain  it,  thought 
it  enough  to  flee  from  extremes;  without  having  any  very  definite 
mean  to  flee  to.  He  had  not  clearness  of  intellect  enough  to 
pursue  a  truth  to  its  limits,  nor  boldness  enough  to  hold  it  in  its 
simpHcity ;  but  he  was  always  saying  things  and  unsaying  them, 
balancing  his  thoughts  in  impossible  positions,  and  guarding  his 
words  by  unintelUgible  limitations.  As  to  the  men  and  opinions 
of  the  day  and  place,  he  would  in  the  main  have  agreed  with 
them,  had  he  let  himself  alone ;  but  he  was  determined  to  have 
an  intellect  of  his  own,  and  this  put  him  to  great  shifts  when  he 
would  distinguish  himself  from  them.  Had  he  been  older  than 
they,  he  would  have  talked  of  "  young  heads,"  "  hot  heads,"  and 
the  like ;  but  since  they  were  grave  and  cool  men,  and  outran 
him  by  fourteen  or  fifteen  years,  he  found  nothing  better  than 
to  shake  his  head,  mutter  against  party  spirit,  refuse  to  read 
their  books,  lest  he  should  be  obliged  to  agree  with  them,  and 


48  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

make  a  boast  of  avoiding  their  society.  At  the  present  moment 
he  was  on  the  point  of  starting  for  a  continental  tour  to  recruit 
himself  after  the  labors  of  an  Oxford  year ;  meanwhile  he  was 
keeping  hall  and  chapel  open  for  such  men  as  were  waiting 
either  for  Responsions,  or  for  their  battel  money ;  and  he  took 
notice  of  Reding  as  a  clever  modest  youth,  of  whom  something 
might  be  made.  Under  this  view  of  him,  he  had,  among  other 
civilities,  asked  him  to  breakfast  a  day  or  two  before  he  went 
down. 

A  tutor's  breakfast  is  always  a  difficult  affair  both  for  host  and 
guests  ;  and  Vincent  piqued  himself  on  the  tact  with  which  he 
managed  it.  The  material  part  was  easy  enough ;  there  were 
rolls,  toast,  muffins,  eggs,  cold  lamb,  strawberries,  on  the  table ; 
and  in  due  season  the  college  servant  brought  in  mutton  cutlets 
and  broiled  ham  ;  and  every  one  ate  to  his  heart's,  or  rather  his 
appetite's,  content.  It  was  a  more  arduous  undertaking  to  pro- 
vide the  running  accompaniment  of  thought,  or  at  least  of  words, 
without  which  the  breakfast  would  have  been  little  better  than  a 
pig  trough.  The  conversation  or  rather  mono-polylogue,  as 
some  great  performer  calls  it,  ran  in  somewhat  of  the  following 
strain :  — 

"  Mr.  Bruton,  what  news  from  Staffordshire  ?  Are  the  pot- 
teries pretty  quiet  now?  Our  potteries  grow  in  importance. 
You  need  not  look  at  the  cup  and  saucer  before  you,  Mr.  Catley ; 
these  come  from  Derbyshire.  But  you  find  English  crockery 
every  where  on  the  continent.  I  myself  found  half  a  willow  pat- 
tern saucer  in  the  crater  of  Vesuvius.  Mr.  Sikes,  I  think  you 
have  heen  in  Italy  ?  "  "  No,  sir,"  said  Sikes  ;  "  I  was  near  going ; 
my  family  set  off  a  fortnight  ago,  but  I  was  kept  here  by  these 
confounded  smalls."  "  Your  Eesponsiones"  answered  the  tutor, 
in  a  tone  of  rebuke ;  "  an  unfortunate  delay  for  you,  for  it  is  to 
be  an  unusually  fine  season,  if  the  meteorologists  of  the  sister 
University  are  right  in  their  predictions.  Who  is  in  the  Respon- 
sion  schools,  Mr.  Sikes?"  "Butson  of  Leicester  is  the  strict 
one,  sir ;  he  plucks  one  man  in  three.  He  plucked  last  week 
Patch  of  St.  George's,  and  Patch  has  taken  his  oath  he'll  shoot 
him ;  and  Buston  has  walked  about  ever  since  with  a  bulldog." 
"  These  are  reports,  Mr.  Sikes,  which  often  flit  about,  but  must 
not  be  trusted.  Mr.  Patch  could  not  have  given  a  better  proof 
that  his  rejection  was  deserved." 

A  pause  —  during  which  poor  Vincent  hastily  gobbled  up  two 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  49 

or  three  moutlifuls  of  bread  and  butter,  the  knives  and  forko 
meanwhile  clinking  upon  his  guests'  plates.  "  Sir,  is  it  true," 
began  one  of  them  at  length,  "  that  the  old  Principal  is  going  to 
be  married  ? "  "  These  are  matters,  Mr.  Atkins,"  answered 
Vincent,  "  which  we  should  always  inquire  about  at  the  fountain 
head ;  antiquam  exquirite  matrem,  or  rather  patrem ;  ha,  ha  ! 
Take  some  more  tea,  Mr.  Reding;  it  won't  hurt  your  nerves. 
I  am  rather  choice  in  my  tea ;  this  comes  overland  through 
Russia;  the  sea  air  destroys  the  flavor  of  our  common  tea. 
Talking  of  air,  Mr.  Tenby,  I  think  you  are  a  chemist.  Have 
you  paid  attention  to  the  recent  experiments  on  the  composition, 
and  resolution  of  air  ?  Not  ?  I  am  surprised  at  it ;  they  are 
well  worth  your  most  serious  consideration.  It  is  now  pretty  well 
ascertained  that  inhaling  gases  is  the  cure  for  all  kinds  of  diseases. 
People  are  beginning  to  talk  of  the  gas  cure,  as  they  did  of  the 
water  cure.  The  great  foreign  chemist.  Professor  Scaramouch, 
has  the  credit  of  the  discovery.  The  effects  are  astounding, 
quite  astounding ;  and  there  are  several  remarkable  coincidences. 
You  know  medicines  are  always  unpleasant,  and  so  these  gases 
are  always  fetid.  The  Professor  cures  by  stenches,  and  has 
brought  his  science  to  such  perfection  that  he  actually  can  classify 
them.  There  are  six  elementary  stenches,  and  these  spread  into 
a  variety  of  subdivisions.  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Reding? 
Distinctive  ?  Yes,  there  is  something  very  distinctive  in  smells. 
But  what  is  most  gratifying  of  all,  and  is  the  great  coincidence  I 
spoke  of,  his  ultimate  resolution  of  fetid  gases  assigns  to  them  the 
very  same  precise  number  as  is  given  to  existing  complaints  in 
the  latest  treatises  on  pathology.  Each  complaint  has  its  gas. 
And,  what  is  still  more  singular,  an  exhausted  receiver  is  a  spe- 
cific for  certain  desperate  disorders.  For  instance,  it  has  effected 
several  cures  of  hydrophobia.  Mr.  Seaton,"  he  continued  to  a 
freshman,  who,  his  breakfast  finished,  was  sitting  uncomfortably 
on  his  chair,  looking  down  and  playing  with  his  knife  —  "  Mr. 
Seaton,  you  are  looking  at  that  picture"  —  it  was  almost  behind 
Seaton's  back  —  "I  don't  wonder  at  it ;  it  was  given  me  by  my 
good  old  mother,  who  died  many  years  ago.  It  represents  some 
beautiful  Italian  scenery." 

Vincent  stood  up,  and  his  party  after  him,  and  all  crowded 
round  the  picture.     "  I  prefer  the  green  of  England,"  said  Re- 
ding.    "  England  has  not  that  brilliant  variety  of  color,"  said 
Tenby.     "  But  there  is  something  so  soothing  in  green."     "  You 
5 


50  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

know,  of  course,  Mr.  Reding,"  said  the  tutor,  "that  there  is 
plenty  of  green  in  Italy,  and  in  winter  even  more  than  in  Eng- 
land ;  only  there  are  other  colors  too."  "  But  I  can't  help  fan- 
cying," said  Charles,  "  that  that  mixture  of  colors  takes  oif  the 
repose  of  English  scenery."  "  The  repose,  for  instance,"  said 
Tenby,  "  of  Binsey  Common,  or  Port  Meadow  in  winter."  "  Say 
in  summer,"  said  Reding ;  "  if  you  choose  place,  I  will  choose 
time.  I  think  the  University  goes  down  just  when  Oxford  begins 
to  be  most  beautiful.  The  walks  and  meadows  are  so  fragrant 
and  bright  now,  the  hay  half  carried,  and  the  short  new  grass 
appearing."  "  Reding  ought  to  live  here  all  through  the  Long," 
said  Tenby :  "  does  any  one  live  through  the  vacation,  sir,  in  Ox- 
ford ?  "  "  Do  you  mean  they  die  before  the  end  of  it,  Mr.  Ten- 
by ?  "  asked  Vincent.  "  It  can't  be  denied,"  he  continued,  "  that 
many,  like  Mr.  Reding,  think  it  a  most  pleasant  time.  /  am 
fond  of  Oxford  ;  but  it  is  not  my  habitat  out  of  term  time." 
"  Well,  I  think  I  should  like  to  make  it  so,"  said  Charles ;  "  but, 
I  suppose,  undergraduates  are  not  allowed."  Mr.  Vincent  an- 
swered with  more  than  necessary  gravity,  "  No  ; "  it  rested  with 
the  Principal ;  but  he  conceived  that  he  would  not  consent  to  it. 
Vincent  added  that  certainly  there  were  parties  who  remained  in 
Oxford  through  the  Long  Vacation.  It  was  said  mysteriously. 
Charles  answered  that,  if  it  was  against  college  rules,  there  was 
no  help  for  it ;  else,  were  he  reading  for  his  degree,  he  should 
like  nothing  better  than  to  pass  the  Long  Vacation  in  Oxford,  if 
he  might  judge  by  the  pleasantness  of  the  last  ten  days.  "  That 
is  a  compliment,  Mr.  Reding,  to  your  company,"  says  Vincent. 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  in  came  the  manciple 
with  the  dinner  paper,  which  Mr.  Vincent  had  formally  to  run 
his  eye  over.  "  Watkins,"  he  said,  giving  it  back  to  him,  "  I  al- 
most think  to-day  is  one  of  the  Fasts  of  the  Church.  Go  and 
look,  Watkins,  and  bring  me  word."  The  astonished  manciple, 
who  had  never  been  sent  on  such  a  commission  in  his  whole  ca- 
reer before,  hastened  out  of  the  room,  to  task  his  wits  how  best 
to  fulfil  it.  The  question  seemed  to  strike  the  company  as  forci- 
bly, for  there  was  a  sudden  silence,  which  was  succeeded  by  a 
shuffling  of  feet  and  a  leavetaking ;  as  if,  though  they  had  se- 
cured their  ham  and  mutton  at  breakfast,  they  did  not  like  to 
risk  their  dinner.  Watkins  returned  sooner  than  could  have 
been  expected.  He  said  that  Mr.  Vincent  was  right ;  to-day  he 
had  found  was  "  the  feast  of  the  Apostles."     "  The  Vigil  of  St. 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  51 

Peter,  you  mean,  Watkins,"  said  Mr.  Vincent ;  "  I  thought  so. 
Then  let  us  have  a  plain  beefsteak  and  a  saddle  of  mutton ;  no 
Portugal  onions,  Watkins,  or  currant  jelly ;  and  some  simple 
pudding,  Charlotte  pudding,  Watkins  —  that  will  do." 

Watkins  vanished.  By  this  time,  Charles  found  himself  alone 
with  the  college  authority  ;  who  began  to  speak  to  him  in  a  more 
confidential  tone.  "  Mr.  Eeding,"  said  he,  "  I  did  not  like  to 
question  you  before  the  others,  but  I  conceive  you  had  no  par- 
ticular meaning  in  your  praise  of  Oxford  in  the  Long  Vacation  ? 
In  the  mouths  of  some  it  would  have  been  suspicious."  Charles 
was  all  surprise.  "  To  tell  the  truth,  Mr.  Reding,  as  things 
stand,"  he  proceeded,  "  it  is  often  a  mark  of  party^  this  residence 
in  the  Vacation  ;  though,  of  course,  there  is  nothing  in  the  thing 
itself  but  what  is  perfectly  natural  and  right."  Charles  was  all 
attention.  "  My  good  sir,"  the  tutor  proceeded,  "  avoid  parties  ; 
be  sure  to  avoid  party.  You  are  young  in  your  career  among 
us.  I  always  feel  anxious  about  young  men  of  talent ;  there  is 
the  greatest  danger  of  the  talent  of  the  University  being  ab- 
sorbed in  party."  Reding  expressed  a  hope,  that  nothing  he 
had  done  had  given  cause  to  his  tutor's  remark.  "  No,"  replied 
Mr.  Vincent,  "  no ; "  yet  with  some  slight  hesitation ;  "  no,  I 
don't  know  that  it  has.  But  I  have  thought  some  of  your  re- 
marks and  questions  at  lecture  were  like  a  person  pushing  things 
too  far,  and  wishing  to  form  a  system."  Charles  was  so  much 
taken  aback  by  the  charge,  that  the  unexplained  mystery  of  the 
Long  Vacation  went  out  of  his  head.  He  said,  he  was  "  very 
sorry,"  and  "  obliged ; "  and  tried  to  recollect  what  he  could  have 
said  to  give  ground  to  Mr.  Vincent's  remark.  Not  being  able  at 
the  moment  to  recollect,  he  went  on.  i'  I  assure  you,  sir,  I  know 
so  little  of  parties  in  the  place,  that  I  hardly  know  their  leaders. 
I  have  heard  persons  mentioned,  but,  if  I  tried,  I  think  I  should, 
in  some  cases,  mismatch  names  and  opinions."  "  I  believe  it," 
said  Vincent;  "but  you  are  young  ;  I  am  cautioning  you  against 
tendencies.  You  may  suddenly  find  yourself  absorbed  before  you 
know  where  you  are." 

Charles  thought  this  a  good  opportunity  of  asking  some  ques- 
tions in  detail,  about  points  which  puzzled  him.  He  asked 
whether  Dr.  Brownside  was  considered  a  safe  divine  to  follow. 
"  I  hold,  d'ye  see,"  answered  Vincent,  "  that  all  errors  are  coun- 
terfeits of  truth.  Clever  men  say  true  things,  Mr.  Reding,  true 
in  their  substance,  but,"  sinking  his  voice  to  a  whisper,  "  they  go 


52  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

too  far.  It  might  even  be  shown  that  all  sects  are  in  one  sense 
but  parts  of  the  Catholic  Church.  I  don't  say  true  parts,  that 
is  a  further  question ;  but  they  imbody  great  principles.  The 
Quakers  represent  the  principle  of  simplicity  and  evangelical 
poverty  ;  they  even  have  a  dress  of  their  own,  like  monks.  The 
Independents  represent  the  rights  of  the  laity ;  the  "Wesleyans 
cherish  the  devotional  principle  ;  the  Irvingites,  the  symbolical 
and  mystical ;  the  High  Church  party,  the  principle  of  obedience ; 
the  Liberals  are  the  guardians  of  reason.  No  party,  then,  I 
conceive,  is  entirely  right  or  entirely  wrong.  As  to  Dr.  Brown- 
side,  there  certainly  have  been  various  opinions  entertained  about 
his  divinity ;  still,  he  is  an  able  man,  and  I  think  you  will  gain 
good,  gain  good  from  his  teaching.  But  mind,  I  don't  recommend 
him  ;  yet  I  respect  him,  and  I -consider  that  he  says  many  things 
very  well  worth  your  attention.  I  would  advise  you,  then,  to 
accept  the  good  which  his  sermons  offer,  without  committing 
yourself  to  the  had.  That,  depend  upon  it,  Mr.  Reding,  is  the 
golden  though  the  obvious  rule  in  these  matters." 

Charles  said,  in  answer,  that  Mr.  Vincent  was  overrating  his 
powers ;  that  he  had  to  learn  before  he  could  judge  ;  and  that  he 
wished  very  much  to  know  whether  Vincent  could  recommend 
him  any  book,  in  which  he  might  see  at  once  what  the  true 
Church  of  Englalid  doctrine  was  on  a  number  of  points  which 
perplexed  him.  Mr.  Vincent  replied,  he  must  be  on  his  guard 
against  dissipating  his  mind  with  such  reading,  at  a  time  when 
his  University  duties  had  a  definite  claim  upon  him.  He  ought 
to  avoid  all  controversies  of  the  day,  all  authors  of  the  day.  He 
would  advise  him  to  read  no  living  authors.  "Read  dead  au- 
thors alone,"  he  continued  5  "  dead  authors  are  safe.  Our  great 
divines,"  and  he  stood  upright,  "  were  models  ;  '  there  were  gi- 
ants on  the  earth  in  those  days,'  as  King  George  the  Third  had 
once  said  of  them  to  Dr.  Johnson.  They  had  that  depth,  and 
power,  and  gravity,  and  fulness,  and  erudition  ;  and  they  were 
so  racy,  always  racy,  and  what  might  be  called  English.  They 
had  that  richness,  too,  such  a  mine  of  thought,  such  a  world  of 
opinion,  such  activity  of  mind,  such  inexhaustible  resource,  such 
diversity,  too.  Then  they  were  so  eloquent ;  the  majestic  Hook- 
er, the  imaginative  Taylor,  the  brilliant  Hall,  the  learning  of 
Barrow,  the  strong  sense  of  South,  the  keen  logic  of  Chilling- 
worth,  good,  honest  old  Burnet,"  &c. 

There  did  not  seem  much  reason  why  he  should  stop  at  one 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  53 

moment  more  than  another ;  at  length,  however,  he  did  stop.  It 
was  prose,  but  it  was  pleasant  prose  to  Charles ;  he  knew  just 
enough  about  these  writers  to  feel  interested  in  hearing  them 
talked  about,  and  to  him  Vincent  seemed  to  be  saying  a  good 
deal,  when  in  fact  he  was  saying  very  little.  When  he  stopped, 
Charles  said  he  believed  that  there  were  persons  in  the  Univer- 
sity who  were  promoting  the  study  of  these  authors.  Mr.  Vin- 
cent looked  grave.  "  It  is  true,"  he  said  ;  "  but,  my  young 
friend,  I  have  already  hinted  to  you  that  indifferent  things  are 
perverted  to  the  purposes  of  party.  At  this  moment  the  names 
of  some  of  our  greatest  divines  are  little  better  than  a  watch- 
word, by  which  the  opinions  of  living  individuals  are  signified." 
"  Which  opinions,  I  suppose,"  he  answered,  "  are  not  to  be  found 
in  those  authors."  "  I'll  not  say  that,"  said  Mr.  Vincent.  "  I 
have  the  greatest  respect  for  the  individuals  in  question,  and  I 
am  not  denying  that  they  have  done  good  to  our  church  by  draw- 
ing attention  in  this  lax  day  to  the  old  Church  of  England  divin- 
ity. But  it  is  one  thing  to  agree  with  these  gentlemen ;  another," 
laying  his  hand  on  Charles's  shoulder, "  another  to  belong  to  their 
party.  Do  not  make  man  your  master  ;  get  good  from  all ;  think 
well  of  all  persons,  and  you  will  be  a  wise  man." 

Reding  inquired,  with  some  timidity,  if  this  was  not  something 
like  what  Dr.  Brownside  had  said  in  the  University  pulpit ;  but 
perhaps  the  latter  advocated  a  toleration  of  opinions  in  a  differ- 
ent sense  ?  Mr.  Vincent  answered  rather  shortly,  that  he  had 
not  heard  Dr.  Brownside's  sermon  ;  but,  for  himself,  he  had  been 
speaking  only  of  persons  in  our  own  communion.  "  Our 
church,"  he  said,  "  admitted  of  great  liberty  of  thought  within 
her  pale.  Even  our  greatest  divines  differed  from  each  other  in 
many  respects  ;  nay.  Bishop  Taylor  differed  from  himself.  It 
was  a  great  principle  in  the  English  Church.  Her  true  children 
agree  to  differ.  In  truth,"  he  continued,  "  there  is  that  robust, 
masculine,  noble  independence  in  the  English  mind,  which  refuses 
to  be  tied  down  to  artificial  shapes ;  but  is  like,  I  will  say,  some 
great  and  beautiful  production  of  nature,  —  a  tree,  which  is  rich 
in  foliage  and  fantastic  in  limb,  no  sickly  denizen  of  the  hot- 
house, or  helpless  dependent  of  the  garden  wall,  but  in  careless 
magnificence  sheds  its  fruits  upon  the  free  earth,  for  the  bird  of 
the  air  and  the  beast  of  the  field,  and  all  sorts  of  cattle,  to  eat 
thereof  and  rejoice." 

When  Charles  came  away,  he  tried  to  think  what  he  had  gained 
5* 


54  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

by  his  conversation  with  Mr.  Vincent;  not  exactly  what  he 
had  wanted,  some  practical  rules  to  guide  his  mind  and  keep  him 
steady,  but  still  some  useful  hints.  He  had  already  been  averse 
to  parties,  and  offended  at  what  he  saw  of  individuals  attached 
to  them.  Vincent  had  confirmed  him  in  his  resolution  to  keep 
aloof  from  them,  and  to  attend  to  his  duties  in  the  place.  He 
felt  pleased  to  have  had  this  talk  with  him  ;  but  what  could  he 
mean  by  suspecting  a  tendency  in  himself  to  push  things  too  far, 
and  thereby  to  impHcate  himself  in  party  ?  He  was  obliged  to 
resign  himself  to  ignorance  on  the  subject,  and  to  content  him- 
self with  keeping  a  watch  over  himself  in  future. 


CHAPTER  XL 


No  opportunity  has  occured  of  informing  the  reader  that, 
during  the  last  week  or  two,  Charles  had  accidentally  been  a 
good  deal  thrown  across  Willis,  the  umbra  of  White  at  Bate- 
man's  breakfast  party.  He  had  liked  his  looks  on  that  occasion, 
when  he  was  dumb  ;  he  did  not  like  him  so  much  when  he  heard 
him  talk  ;  still  he  could  not  help  being  interested  in  him,  and  not 
the  least  for  this  reason,  that  Willis  seemed  to  have  taken  a  great 
fancy  to  himself.  He  certainly  did  court  Charles,  and  seemed 
anxious  to  stand  well  with  him.  Charles,  however,  did  not  like 
his  mode  of  talking  better  than  he  did  White's  ;  and  when  he 
first  saw  his  rooms,  there  was  much  in  them  which  shocked  both 
his  good  sense  and  his  religious  principles.  A  large  ivory  cruci- 
fix, in  a  glass  case,  was  a  conspicuous  ornament  between  the  win- 
dows; an  engraving,  representing  the  Blessed  Trinity,  as  is 
usual  in  Catholic  countries,  hung  over  the  fireplace ;  and  a  pic- 
ture of  the  Madonna  and  St.  Dominic  was  opposite  to  it.  On 
the  mantel  piece  were  a  rosary,  a  thuribulum,  and  other  tokens 
of  Catholicism,  of  which  Charles  did  not  know  the  uses  ;  a  mis- 
sal, ritual,  and  some  Catholic  tracts,  lay  on  the  table  ;  and,  as  he 
happened  to  come  on  Willis  unexpectedly,  he  found  him  sitting 
in  a  vestment  more  like  a  cassock  than  a  reading  gown,  and  en- 
gaged upon  some  portion  of  the  Breviary.  Virgil  and  Sopho- 
cles, Herodotus  and  Cicero,  seemed,  as  impure  pagans,  to  have 


LOSS    AND    3AIN.  55 

hid  themselves  in  corners,  or  flitted  away,  before  the  awful 
presence  of  the  Ancient  Church.  Charles  had  taken  upon  him- 
self to  protest  against  some  of  these  singularities,  but  without 
success. 

On  the  evening  before  his  departure  for  the  country,  he  had 
occasion  to  go  towards  Folly  Bridge  to  pay  a  bill,  when  he  was 
startled,  as  he  passed  what  he  had  ever  taken  for  a  dissenting 
chapel,  to  see  Willis  come  out  of  it.  He  hardly  could  believe 
he  saw  correctly  :  he  knew,  indeed,  that  Willis  had  been  detained 
in  Oxford,  as  he  had  been  himself;  but  what  had  compelled 
him  to  a  visit  so  extraordinary  as  that  which  he  had  just  made, 
Charles  had  no  means  of  determining.  "  Willis,"  he  cried,  as 
he  stopped.  Willis  colored,  and  tried  to  look  easy.  "  Do  come 
a  few  paces  with  me,"  said  Charles.  "  What  in  the  world  has 
taken  you  there  ?  Is  it  not  a  dissenting  meeting  ?  "  "  Dissent- 
ing meeting  !  "  cried  Willis,  surprised  and  offended  in  his  turn  ; 
"  what  on  earth  could  make  you  think  I  would  go  to  a  dissent- 
ing meeting  ?  "  "  Well,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Charles  ;  "  I 
recollect  now :  it's  the  exhibition  room.  However,  once  it  was 
a  chapel :  that's  my  mistake.  Isn't  it  what  is  called  '  the 
Old  Methodist  Chapel  ? '  I  never  was  there ;  they  showed 
there  the  Dio-astro-doxon,  so  I  think  they  called  it."  Charles 
talked  on,  to  cover  his  own  mistake,  for  he  was  ashamed  of 
the  charge  he  had  made.  Willis  did  not  know  whether  he 
was  in  jest  or  earnest.  "  Reding,"  he  said,  "  don't  go  on ;  you 
offend  me."  "  Well,  what  is  it?  "  said  Charles.  "  You  know  well 
enough,"  answered  Willis,  "  though  you  wish  to  annoy  me."  "  I 
don't,  indeed."  "  It's  the  Catholic  church,"  said  Willis.  Reding 
was  silent  a  moment ;  then  he  said :  "  Well,  I  don't  think  you 
have  mended  the  matter ;  it  is  a  dissenting  meeting,  call  it  what 
you  will ;  though  not  the  kind  of  one  I  meant."  "  What  can  you 
mean  ?  "  asked  Willis.  "  Rather,  what  mean  you  by  going  to 
such  places  ?  "  retorted  Charles  ;  "  why,  it  is  against  your  oath." 
"  My  oath !  what  oath  ?  "  "  There's  not  an  oath  now  ;  but  there 
was  an  oath  till  lately,"  said  Reding  ;  "  and  we  still  make  a  very 
solemn  engagement.  Don't  you  recollect  your  matriculation  at  the 
Vice  Chancellor's,  and  what  oaths  and  declarations  you  made  ?  " 
"  I  don't  know  what  I  made  :  my  tutor  told  me  nothing  about  it. 
I  signed  a  book  or  two."  "You  did  more,"  said  Reding,  "i 
was  told  most  carefully.  You  solemnly  engaged  to  keep  the 
statutes ;  and  one  statute  is,  not  to  go  into  any  dissenting  chapel 


56  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

or  meeting  whatever."  "  Catholics  are  not  dissenters,"  said 
"Willis.  "  O,  don't  speak  so,"  said  Charles  ;  "  you  know  it's  meant 
to  include  them.  The  statute  wishes  us  to  keep  from  all  places 
of  worship  whatever  but  our  own."  "  But  it  is  an  illegal  dec- 
laration or  vow,"  said  Willis,  "  and  so  not  binding."  "  Where  did 
you  find  that  get-off?"  said  Charles;  "the  priest  put  that  into 
your  head."  "  I  don't  know  the  priest ;  I  never  spoke  a  word 
to.  him,"  answered  Willis.  "  Well,  any  how,  it's  not  your  own 
answer,"  said  Reding ;  "  and  does  not  help  you.  I  am  no  casu- 
ist ;  but  if  it  is  an  illegal  engagement,  you  should  not  continue  to 
enjoy  the  benefit  of  it."  "  What  benefit  ?  "  "  Your  cap  and 
gown ;  a  university  education  ;  the  chance  of  a  scholarship,  or 
fellowship.  Give  up  these,  and  then  plead,  if  you  will,  and  law- 
fully, that  you  are  quit  of  your  engagement ;  but  don't  sail  under 
false  colors:  don't  take  the  benefit,  and  break  the  stipulation." 
*' You  take  it  too  seriously;  there  are  half  a  hundred  statutes  ^om 
don't  keep,  any  more  than  I.  You  are  most  inconsistent." 
"  Well,  if  we  don't  keep  them,"  said  Charles,  "  I  suppose  it  is  in 
points  where  the  authorities  don't  enforce  them;  for  instance, 
they  don't  mean  us  to  dress  in  brown,  though  the  statutes  order 
it."  "  But  they  do  mean  to  keep  you  from  walking  down  High 
Street  in  beaver,"  answered  Willis  ;  "  for  the  Proctors  march  up 
and  down,  and  send  you  back,  if  they  catch  you."  "  But  this  is 
a  different  matter,"  said  Reding,  changing  his  ground ;  "  this  is  a 
matter  of  religion.  It  can't  be  right  to  go  to  strange  places  of 
worship  or  meetings."  "  Why,"  said  Willis,  "  if  we  are  one 
church  with  the  Roman  Catholics,  I  can't  make  out,  for  the  life 
of  me,  how  it's  wrong  for  us  to  go  to  them,  or  them  to  us." 
"  I'm  no  divine,  I  don't  understand  what  is  meant  by  one  church," 
said  Charles ;  "  but  I  know  well  that  there's  not  a  bishop,  not  a 
clergyman,  not  a  sober  churchman  in  the  land  but  would  give  it 
against  you.  It's  a  sheer  absurdity."  "  Don't  talk  in  that  way," 
answered  Willis,  "  please  don't.  I  feel  all  my  heart  drawn  to  the 
Catholic  worship ;  our  own  service  is  so  cold."  "  That's  just 
what  every  stiff  dissenter  says,"  answered  Charles ;  "  every  poor 
cottager  too,  who  knows  no  better,  and  goes  after  the  Metho- 
dists, after  dear  Mr.  Spoutaway  or  the  preaching  cobbler,  she 
says  (I  have  heard  them),  '  O,  sir,  I  suppose  we  ought  to  go 
where  we  get  most  good.  Mr.  So  and  So  goes  to  my  heart  —  he 
goes  through  me.'  "  Willis  laughed ;  "  Well,  not  a  bad  reason, 
as  times  go,  /think,"  said  he  :  "  poor  souls,  what  better  means  of 
judging  have  they  ?  how  can  you  hope  they  will  like  '  the  Scrip- 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  57 

ture  moveth  us  ?  '  Really  you  are  making  too  mucli  of  it.  This 
is  only  the  second  time  I  have  been  there,  and,  I  tell  you  in  ear- 
nest, I  find  my  mind  filled  with  awe  and  devotion  there  ;  as  I 
think  you  would  too.  I  really  am  better  for  it ;  I  cannot  pray 
in  church ;  there's  a  bad  smell  there,  and  the  pews  hide  every 
thing  ;  I  can't  see  through  a  deal  board.  But  here,  when  I  went 
in,  I  found  all  still  and  calm,  the  space  open,  and,  in  the  twilight, 
the  Tabernacle,  just  visible,  pointed  out  by  the  lamp."  Charles 
looked  very  uncomfortable.  "  Really,  Willis,"  he  said,  "  I  don't 
know  what  to  say  to  you.  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  speak 
against  the  Roman  Catholics  ;  I  know  nothing  about  them.  But 
this  I  know,  that  you  are  not  a  Roman  Catholic,  and  have  no 
business  there.  If  they  have  such  sacred  things  among  them  as 
you  allude  to,  still  these  are  not  yours ;  you  are  an  intruder.  I 
know  nothing  about  it;  I  don't  like  to  give  a  judgment,  I  am 
sure.  But  it's  a  tampering  with  sacred  things;  running  here 
and  there,  touching  and  tasting,  taking  up,  putting  down.  I  don't 
like  it,"  he  added  with  vehemence ;  "  it's  taking  liberties  with 
God."  "O,  my  dear  Reding,  please  don't  speak  so  very  severe- 
ly," said  poor  Willis  ;  "  now  what  have  I  done  more  than  you 
would  do  yourself,  were  you  in  France  or  Italy  ?  Do  you  mean 
to  say  you  wouldn't  enter  the  churches  abroad  ? "  "I  will  only 
decide  about  what  is  before  me,"  answered  Reding  ;  "  when  I  go 
abroad,  then  will  be  the  time  to  think  about  your  question.  It  is 
quite  enough  to  know  what  we  ought  to  do  at  the  moment,  and  I 
am  clear  you  have  been  doing  wrong.  How  did  you  find  your 
way  there  ?  "  "  White  took  me."  "  Then  there  is  one  man  in 
the  world  more  thoughtless  than  you :  do  many  of  the  gownsmen 
go  there  ?  "  "  Not  that  I  know  of;  one  or  two  have  gone  from 
curiosity ;  there  is  no  practice  of  going,  at  least  this  is  what  I 
am  told."  "  Well,"  said  Charles,  "  you  must  promise  me  you 
will  not  go  again.  Come,  we  won't  part  till  you  do."  "  That  is 
too  much,"  said  Willis,  gently ;  then,  disengaging  his  arm  from 
Reding's,  he  suddenly  darted  away  from  him,  saying,  "  Good 
by,  good  by;  to  our  next  merry  meeting  —  au  revoir." 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  Charles  walked  slowly  home,  saying 
to  himself:  "  What  if,  after  all,  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  is 
the  true  church  ?  I  wish  I  knew  what  to  believe  ;  no  one  will 
telt  me  what  to  believe ;  I  am  so  left  to  myself."  Then  he 
thought :  "  I  suppose  I  know  quite  enough  for  practice  —  more 
than  I  do  practise ;  and  I  ought  surely  to  be  contented  and 
thankful." 


58  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

Charles  was  an  affectionate  son,  and  the  Long  Vacation 
passed  very  happily  at  home.  He  was  up  early,  and  read 
steadily  till  luncheon,  and  then  he  was  at  the  service  of  his 
father,  mother,  and  sisters  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  He  loved 
the  calm,  quiet  country ;  he  loved  the  monotonous  flow  of  time, 
when  each  day  is  like  the  other ;  and,  after  the  excitement  of 
Oxford,  the  secluded  personage  was  like  a  haven  beyond  the 
tossing  of  the  waves.  The  whirl  of  opinions  and  perplexities 
which  had  encircled  him  at  Oxford,  now  were  like  the  distant 
sound  of  the  ocean  —  they  reminded  him  of  his  present  security. 
The  undulating  meadows,  the  green  lanes,  the  open  heath,  the 
common  with  its  wide-spreading  dusky  elms,  the  high  timber 
which  fringed  the  level  path  from  village  to  village,  ever  and 
anon  broken  and  thrown  into  groups,  or  losing  itself  in  copses  — 
even  the  gate,  and  the  stile,  and  the  turnpike  road  had  the 
charm,  not  of  novelty,  but  of  long  familiar  use ;  they  had  the 
poetry  of  many  recollections.  Nor  was  the  dilapidated  deformed 
church,  with  its  outside  staircases,  its  unsightly  galleries,  its 
wide-intruded  windows,  its  uncouth  pews,  its  low  nunting  table, 
its  forlorn  vestry,  and  its  damp  earthy  smell,  without  its  pleasant 
associations  to  the  inner  man  ;  for  there  it  was  that,  for  many  a 
year,  Sunday  after  Sunday,  he  had  heard  his  dear  father  read 
and  preach ;  there  were  the  old  monuments,  with  Latin  inscrip- 
tions and  strange  devices,  the  black  boards  with  white  letters, 
the  Resurgams  and  grinning -skulls,  the  fire  buckets,  the  faded 
militia  colors,  and,  almost  as  much  a  fixture,  the  old  clerk,  with 
a  Welsh  wig  over  his  ears,  shouting  the  responses  out  of  place 
—  which  had  arrested  his  imagination,  and  awed  him  when  a 
child.  And  then,  there  was  his  home  itself;  its  well-known 
rooms,  its  pleasant  routine,  its  order,  and  its  comfort  —  an  old 
and  true  friend,  the  dearer  to  him  because  he  had  made  new 
ones.  "  Where  I  shall  be  in  time  to  come,  I  know  not,"  he  said 
to  himself ;  "  I  am  but  a  boy  ;  many  things  which  I  have  not  a 
dream  of,  which  my  imagination  cannot  compass,  may  come  on 
me  before  I  die  —  if  I  live  ;  but  here  at  least,  and  now,  I  am 
happy,  and  I  will  enjoy  my  happiness.  Some  say  that  school 
is  the  pleasantest  time  of  one's  life ;  this  does  not  exclude  col- 
lege.    I  suppose  care  is  what  makes  life  so  wearing.     At  present 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  59 

I  have  no  care,  no  responsibility;  I  suppose  I  shall  feel  a 
little  when  I  go  up  for  my  degree.  Care  is  a  terrible  thing ;  I 
have  had  a  little  of  it  at  times  at  school.  What  a  strange  thing 
to  fancy  I  shall  be  one  day  twenty-five  or  thirty !  How  the 
weeks  are  flying  by  —  the  Vacation  will  soon  be  over  !  O,  I  am 
so  happy,  it  quite  makes  me  afraid.  Yet  I  shall  have  strength 
for  my  day." 

Sometimes,  however,  his  thoughts  took  a  sadder  turn,  and  he 
anticipated  the  future  more  vividly  than  he  enjoyed  the  present. 
Mr.  Malcolm  had  come  to  see  them,  after  an  absence  from  the 
parsonage  for  some  years ;  his  visit  was  a  great  pleasure  to  Mr. 
Reding,  and  not  much  less  to  himself,  to  whom  a  green  home 
and  a  family  circle  were  agreeable  sights,  after  his  bachelor  life 
at  college.  He  had  been  a  great  favorite  with  Charles  and  his 
sisters  as  children,  though  now  his  popularity  with  them  for  the 
most  part  rested  on  the  memory  of  the  past.  When  he  told 
them  amusing  stories,  or  allowed  them  to  climb  his  knee  and 
take  off  his  spectacles,  he  did  all  that  was  necessary  to  gain  their 
childish  hearts ;  more  is  necessary  to  conciliate  the  affection  of 
young  men  and  women ;  and  thus  it  is  not  surprising  that  he 
lived  in  their  minds  principally  by  prescription.  He  neither 
knew  this,  nor  would  have  thought  much  about  it,  if  he  had ; 
for,  like  many  persons  of  advancing  years,  he  made  himself  very 
much  his  own  centre,  did  not  care  to  enter  into  the  minds  of  others, 
did  not  consult  for  them,  or  find  his  happiness  in  them.  He  was 
kind  and  friendly  to  the  young  people,  as  he  would  be  kind  to  a 
canary  bird  or  a  lapdog ;  it  was  a  sort  of  external  love  ;  and, 
though  they  got  on  capitally  with  him,  they  did  not  miss  him 
when  gone,  nor  would  have  been  much  troubled  to  know  that 
he  was  never  to  come  again.  Charles  drove  him  about  the 
country,  stamped  his  letters,  secured  him  his  newspapers  from 
the  neighboring  town,  and  listened  to  his  stories  about  Oxford 
and  Oxford  men.  He  really  liked  him,  and  wished  to  please 
him ;  but,  as  to  consulting  him  in  any  serious  matter,  or  going 
to  him  for  comfort  in  affliction,  he  would  as  soon  have  thought 
of  betaking  him  to  Dan  the  peddler,  or  old  Isaac  who  played  the 
Sunday  bassoon. 

"How  have  your  peaches  been  this  year,  Malcolm?"  said 
Mr.  Reding  one  day  after  dinner  to  his  guest.  "  You  ought  to 
know  that  we  have  no  peaches  in  Oxford,"  answered  Mr.  Malcolm. 
*'  My  memory  plays  me  false,  then :  I  had  a  vision  of,  at  least, 


60  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

October  peaches  on  one  occasion,  and  fine  ones  too."  "  Ah,  you 
mean  at  old  Tom  Spindle's  the  jockey's,"  answered  Mr.  Mal- 
colm ;  "  it's  true,  he  had  a  bit  of  brick  wall,  and  was  proud  of  it. 
But  peaches  come  when  there  is  no  one  in  Oxford  to  eat  them ; 
so  either  the  tree,  or  at  least  the  fruit,  is  a  great  rarity  there. 
Oxford  wasn't  so  empty  once;  you  have  old  mulberry  trees 
there  in  record  of  better  days."  "  At  that  time  too,"  said 
Charles,  "I  suppose,  the  more  expensive  fruits  were  not  cul- 
tivated. Mulberries  are  the  witness,  not  only  of  a  full  college, 
but  of  simple  tastes."  "  Charles  is  secretly  cutting  at  our  hot- 
house here,"  said  Mr.  Reding ;  "  as  if  our  first  father  did  not 
prefer  fruits  and  flowers  to  beef  and  mutton."  "  No,  indeed," 
said  Charles,  "  I  think  peaches  capital  things ;  and  as  to  flowers, 
I  am  even  too  fond  of  scents."  "  Charles  has  some  theory,  then, 
about  scents,  I'll  be  bound,"  said  his  father ;  "  I  never  knew  a 
boy  who  so  placed  his  likings  and  dislikings  on  fancies.  He 
began  to  eat  olives  directly  he  read  the  CEdipus  of  Sophocles ; 
and  I  verily  believe,  will  soon  give  up  oranges  from  his  dislike 
to  King  William."  "Every  one  does' so,"  said  Charles:  "who 
would  not  be  in  the  fashion  ?  There's  aunt  Kitty,  she  calls  a 
bonnet  '  a  sweet '  one  year,  which  makes  her  '  a  perfect  fright ' 
the  next."  "You're  right,  papa,  in  this  instance,"  said  his 
mother;  "I  know  he  has  some  good  reason,  though  I  never  can 
recollect  it,  why  he  smells  a  rose  or  distils  lavender.  What  is 
it,  my  dear  Mary  ?  "  " '  Relics  ye  are  of  Eden's  bowers,' "  said 
she.  "  Why,  sir,  that  was  precisely  your  own  reason  just  now," 
said  Charles  to  his  father.  "  There's  more  than  that,"  said  Mr. 
Reding,  "  if  I  knew  what  it  was."  "  He  thinks  the  scent  more 
intellectual  than  the  other  senses,"  said  Mary,  smiling.  "  Such 
a  boy  for  paradoxes  !  "  said  his  mother.  "  Well,  so  it  is  in  a 
certain  way,"  said  Charles ;  "  but  I  can't  explain.  Sounds  and 
scents  are  more  ethereal,  less  material ;  they  have  no  shape  — 
like  the  angels."  Mr.  Malcolm  laughed.  "  Well,  I  grant  it, 
Charles,"  he  said  ;  "  they  are  length  without  breadth !  "  "  Did 
you  ever  hear  the  like  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Reding,  laughing  too  ;  "  don't 
encourage  him,  Mr.  Malcolm ;  you  are  worse  than  he.  Angels 
length  without  breadth  ! "  "  They  pass  from  place  to  place,  they 
come,  they  go,"  continued  Mr.  Malcolm.  "  They  conjure  up  the 
past  so  vividly,"  said  Charles. 

"  But  sounds  surely  more  than   scents,"  said  Mr.   Malcolm. 
"  Pardon   me ;   the   reverse,  as   /  think,"   answered    Charles. 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  61 

"  That  is  a  paradox,  Charles,"  said  Mr.  Malcolm  ;  "  the  smell 
of  roast  beef  never  went  farther  than  to  remind  a  man  of  din- 
ner ;  but  sounds  are  pathetic  and  inspiring."  "  Well,  sir,  but 
think  of  this,"  said  Charles ;  "  scents  are  complete  in  them- 
selves, jet  do  not  consist  of  parts.  Think  how  very  distinct  the 
smell  of  a  rose  is  from  a  pink,  a  pink  from  a  sweet  pea,  a  sweet 
pea  from  a  stock,  a  stock  from  lilac,  lilac  from  lavender,  laven- 
der from  jasmine,  jasmine  from  honeysuckle,  honeysuckle  from 
hawthorn,  hawthorn  from  hyacinth,  hyacinth  —  "  "  Spare  us," 
interrupted  Mr.  Malcolm ;  "  you  are  going  through  the  index  of 
Loudon  !  "  "  And  these  are  only  the  scents  of  flowers ;  how 
dijQferent  flowers  smell  from  fruits,  fruits  from  spices,  spices  from 
roast  beef  or  pork  cutlets,  and  so  on.  Now,  what  I  was  coming 
to  is  this  —  these  scents  are  perfectly  distinct  from  each  other, 
and  sui  generis  ;  they  never  can  be  confused ;  yet  each  is  com- 
municated to  the  apprehension  in  an  instant.  Sights  take  up  a 
great  space,  a  tune  is  a  succession  of  sounds ;  but  scents  are  at 
once  specific  and  complete,  yet  indivisible.  Who  can  halve  a 
scent  ?  they  need  neither  time  nor  space  ;  thus  they  are  imma- 
terial or  spiritual."  "  Charles  hasn't  been  to  Oxford'  for  noth- 
ing," said  his  mother,  laughing  and  looking  at  Mary ;  "  this  is 
what  I  call  chopping  logic  ! " 

"  Well  done,  Charles !  "  cried  Mr.  Malcolm  ;  "  and  now,  since 
you  have  such  clear  notions  of  the  power  of  smells,  you  ought, 
like  the  man  in  the  story,  to  be  satisfied  with  smelling  at  your 
dinner,  and  grow  fat  upon  it.  It's  a  shame  you  sit  down  to 
table."  "  Well,  sir,"  answered  Charles,  "  some  people  do  seem 
to  thrive  on  snuff  at  least."  "  For  shame,  Charles  !  "  said  Mr. 
Malcolm  ;  "  you  have  seen  me  use  the  common  room  snuffbox 
to  keep  myself  awake  after  dinner  ;  but  nothing  more.  I  keep 
a  box  in  my  pocket  merely  as  a  bawble :  it  was  a  present.  You 
should  have  lived  when  I  was  young.  There  was  old  Dr. 
Troughton  of  Nun's  Hall,  he  carried  his  snuff  loose  in  his 
pocket ;  and  old  Mrs.  Vice  Principal  Daffy  used  to  lay  a  train 
along  her  arm,  and  fire  it  with  her  nose.  Doctors  of  medicine 
took  it  as  a  preservative  against  infection,  and  doctors  of  divinity 
against  drowsiness  in  church."  "  They  take  wine  against  infec- 
tion now,"  said  Mr.  Reding;  "it's  a  much  surer  protective." 
"  Wine  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Malcolm,  "  O,  they  didn't  take  less  wine 
then,  as  you  and  I  know.  On  certain  solemn  occasions  they 
mnde  a  point  of  getting  drunk,  the  whole  college,  from  the  Vice 
6 


62  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

Principal  or  Sub-Warden  down  to  the  scouts.  Heads  of  houses 
were  kept  in  order  by  their  wives ;  but  I  assure  you  the  jolly 
god  came  very  near  Mr.  Vice  Chancellor  himself.  There  was 
old  Dr.  Sturdy  of  St.  Michael's,  a  great  martinet  in  his  time. 
One  day  the  King  passed  through  Oxford ;  Sturdy,  a  tall,  up- 
right, iron-faced  man,  had  to  meet  him  in  procession  at  Mag- 
dalen Bridge,  and  walked  down  with  his  pokers  before  him,  gold 
and  silver,  vergers,  cocked  hats,  and  the  rest.  There  wasn't 
one  of  them  that  wasn't  liquor.  Think  of  the  good  old  man's 
horror.  Majesty  in  the  distance,  and  his  own  people  swaying  to 
and  fro  under  his  very  nose,  and  promising  to  leave  him  for  the 
gutter  before  the  march  was  ended."  "  No  one  can  get  tipsy 
with  snuff,  I  grant,"  said  Mr.  Reding ;  "  but  if  wine  has  done 
some  men  harm,  it  has  done  others  a  deal  of  good."  "  Hair 
powder  is  as  bad  as  snuff,"  said  Mary,  preferring  the  former  sub- 
ject ;  "  there's  old  Mr.  Butler  of  Cooling ;  his  wig  is  so  large  and 
full  of  powder,  that,  when  he  nods  his  head,  I  am  sure  to  sneeze." 
"  Ah,  but  all  these  are  accidents,  young  lady,"  said  Mr.  Mal- 
colm, put  out  by  this  block  to  the  conversation,  and  running  off 
somewhat  testily  in  another  direction ;  "  accidents  after  all.  Old 
people  are  always  the  same ;  so  are  young.  Each  age  has  its 
own  fashion :  if  Mr.  Butler  wore  no  wig,  still  there  would  be 
something  about  him  odd  and  strange  to  young  eyes.  Charles, 
don't  you  be  an  old  bachelor.  No  one  cares  for  old  people. 
Marry,  my  dear  boy  ;  look  out  betimes  for  a  virtuous  young  wo- 
man, who  will  make  you  an  attentive  wife."  Charles  slightly 
colored,  and  his  sister  laughed  as  if  there  was  some  understand- 
ing between  them.  Mr.  Malcolm  continued ;  "  Don't  wait  till 
you  want  some  one  to  buy  flannel  for  your  rheumatism  or  gout ; 
marry  betimes."  "  You  will  let  me  take  my  degree  first,  sir?" 
said  Charles.  "  Certainly ;  take  your  M.  A.'s,  if  you  will ;  but 
don't  become  an  old  Fellow.  Don't  wait  till  forty  ;  people  make 
the  strangest  mistakes."  "  Dear  Charles  will  make  a  kind  and 
affectionate  husband,  I  am  sure,"  said  his  mother,  "  when  the 
time  comes ;  and  come  it  will,  though  not  just  yet.  Yes,  my  dear 
boy,"  she  added,  nodding  at  him,  "  you  will  not  be  able  to  escape 
your  destiny  when  it  comes."  "  Charles,  you  must  know,"  said 
Mr.  Reding  to  his  guest,  "  is  romantic  in  his  notions  just  now.  I 
believe  it  is,  that  he  thinks  no  one  good  enough  for  him.  0,  my 
dear  Charlie,  don't  let  me  pain  you,  I  meant  nothing  serious ;  but 
somehow  he  has  not  hit  it  off  very  well  with  some  young  ladies 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  63 

here,  who  expected  more  attention  than  he  cared  to  give."  "  I 
am  sure,"  said  Mary,  "  Charles  is  most  attentive  whenever  there 
is  occasion,  and  always  has  his  eyes  about  him  to  do  a  service ; 
only  he's  a  bad  hand  at  small  talk."  "  All  will  come  in  time,  my 
dear,"  said  his  mother;  "a  good  son  makes  a  good  husband." 
"  And  a  very  loving  papa,"  said  Mr.  Malcolm.  "  O,  spare  me, 
sir,"  said  poor  Charles ;  "  how  have  I  deserved  this  ?  "  "  Well," 
proceeded  Mr.  Malcolm,  "  and  young  ladies  ought  to  marry  be- 
times too."  "  Come,  Mary,  your  turn  is  coming,"  cried  Charles ; 
and  taking  his  sister's  hand,  he  threw  up  the  sash,  and  escaped 
with  her  into  the  garden. 

They  crossed  the  lawn,  and  took  refuge  in  a  shrubbery.  "  How 
strange  it  is ! "  said  Mary,  as  they  strolled  along  the  winding 
walk  ;  "  we  used  to  like  Mr.  Malcolm  so,  as  children :  but  now, 
I  like  him  still,  but  he  is  not  the  same."  "  We  are  older,"  said 
her  brother  ;  "  diflferent  things  take  us  now."  "  He  used  to  be  so 
kind,"  continued  she ;  "  when  he  was  coming,  the  day  was  looked 
out  for;  and  mamma  said,  'Take  care  you  be  good  when  Mr. 
Malcolm  comes.'  And  he  was  sure  to  bring  a  twelfth  cake,  or  a 
Noah's  ark,  or  something  of  the  sort.  And  then  he  romped  with 
us,  and  let  us  make  fun  of  him."  "  Indeed  it  isn't  he  that  is 
changed,"  said  Charles,  "  but  we ;  we  are  in  the  time  of  life  to 
change;  we  have  changed  already,  and  shall  change  still.'* 
"  What  a  mercy  it  is,"  said  his  sister,  "  that  we  are  so  happy 
among  ourselves  as  a  family !  If  we  change,  we  shall  change 
together,  as  apples  of  one  stock ;  if  one  fails,  the  other  does. 
Thus  we  are  always  the  same  to  each  other."  "  It  is  a  mercy, 
indeed,"  said  Charles  ;  "  we  are  so  blest,  that  I  am  sometimes 
quite  frightened."  His  sister  looked  earnestly  at  him.  He 
laughed  a  little,  to  turn  off  the  edge  of  his  seriousness.  "  You 
would  know  what  I  mean,  dear  Mary,  if  you  had  read  Herodo- 
tus. A  Greek  tyrant  feared  his  own  excessive  prosperity,  and 
therefore  made  a  sacrifice  to  fortune.  I  mean,  he  gave  up  some- 
thing which  he  held  most  precious ;  he  took  a  ring  from  his  fin- 
ger, and  cast  it  into  the  sea,  lest  the  Deity  should  afflict  him,  if 
he  did  not  afflict  himself."  "  My  dear  Charles,  if  we  do  but  en- 
joy God's  gifts  thankfully,  and  take  care  not  to  set  our  hearts  on 
them  or  to  abuse  them,  we  need  not  fear  for  their  continuance." 
"  Well,"  said  Charles,  "  there's  one  text  which  has  ever  dwelt  on 
my  mind,  '  Rejoice  with  trembling.'  I  can't  take  full,  unre- 
strained pleasure  in  any  thing."     "  Why  not,  if  you  look  at  it  as 


C4  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

God's  gift  ?  "  asked  Mary.  "  I  don't  defend  it,"  he  replied ;  "  it's 
my  way  ;  it  may  be  a  selfish  prudence,  for  what  I  know ;  but  I  am 
sure  that,  did  I  give  my  heart  to  any  creature,  I  should  be  with- 
drawing it  from  God.  How  easily  could  I  idolize  these  sweet  walks, 
which  we  have  known  for  so  many  years ! " 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  "  Well,"  said  Mary,  "  whatever 
we  lose,  no  change  can  affect  us  as  a  family.  While  we  are  we, 
we  are  to  each  other  what  nothing  external  can  be  to  us,  whether 
as  given  or  as  taken  away."  Charles  made  no  answer.  "  What 
has  come  to  you,  dear  Charles  ?  "  she  said,  stopping  and  looking 
at  him ;  then,  gently  removing  his  hair  and  smoothing  his  fore- 
head, she  said,  "  You  are  so  sad  to-day."  "  Dearest  Mary,"  he 
made  answer,  "  nothing's  the  matter,  indeed.  I  think  it  is  Mr. 
Malcolm  who  has  put  me  out.  It's  so  stupid  to  talk  of  the  pros- 
pects of  a  boy  like  me.  Don't  look  so,  I  mean  nothing :  only  it 
annoys  me."  Mary  smiled.  "  What  I  mean  is,"  continued 
Charles,  "  that  we  can  rely  on  nothing  here,  and  are  fools  if  we 
build  on  the  future."  "  We  can  rely  on  each  other,"  she  repeat- 
ed. "Ah,  dear  Mary,  don't  say  so;  it  frightens  me."  She 
looked  round  at  him  surprised,  and  almost  frightened  herself. 
"  Dearest,"  he  continued,  "  I  mean  nothing ;  only  every  thing  is 
so  uncertain  here  below."  "  We  are  sure  of  each  other,  Charles." 
"  Yes,  Mary,"  and  he  kissed  her  affectionately,  "  it  is  true,  most 
true  ; "  then  he  added,  "  all  I  meant  was,  that  it  seems  presump- 
tuous to  say  so.  David  and  Jonathan  were  parted;  St.  Paul 
and  St.  Barnabas."  Tears  stood  in  Mary's  eyes.  "  O,  what  an 
ass  I  am,"  he  said,  "  for  thus  teasing  you  about  nothing ;  no,  I 
only  mean  that  there  is  One  only  who  cannot  die,  who  never 
changes,  only  one.  It  can't  be  wrong  to  remember  this.  Do 
you  recollect  Cowper's  beautiful  lines  ?  I  know  them  without 
having  learned  them  —  they  struck  me  so  much  the  first  time  I 
*read  them : "  and  he  repeated  them  : 

"  *  Thou  ait  the  source  and  centre  of  all  minds, 
Their  only  point  of  rest,  Eternal  "Word. 
From  Thee  departing,  they  are  lost,  and  rove 
At  random,  without  honor,  hope,  or  peace. 
From  Thecals  all  that  soothes  the  life  of  man, 
His  high  endeavor,  and  his  glad  success, 
His  strength  to  suffer,  and  his  -will  to  serve. 
But  O,  Thou  Sovereign  Giver  of  all  good, 
Thou  art  of  all  Thy  gifts  Thyself  the  crown ; 
Give  what  Thou  canst,  without  Thee  we  are  poor, 
And  with  Thee  rich,  take  what  Thou  wilt  away.' " 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  65 


CHAPTER    XIII 


October  came  at  length,  and  with  it  Charles's  thoughts  were 
turned  again  to  Oxford.  One  or  two  weeks  passed  by ;  then  a 
few  days ;  and  it  was  time  to  be  packing.  His  father  parted 
with  him  with  even  greater  emotion  than  when  he  first  went  to 
school.  He  would  himself  drive  him  in  the  phaeton  to  the  neigh- 
boring town,  from  which  the  omnibus  ran  to  the  railroad,  though 
'he  had  the  gout  flying  about  him ;  and  when  the  moment  for 
parting  came,  he  could  not  get  himself  to  give  up  his  hand,  as  if 
he  had  something  to  say  which  he  could  not  recollect  or  master. 
"  Well,  Christmas  will  soon  come,"  he  said  ;  "  we  must  part,  it's 
no  use  delaying  it.  Write  to  us  soon,  dear  boy  ;  -and  tell  us  all 
about  yourself  and  your  matters.  Tell  us  about  your  friends ; 
they  are  nice  young  men  apparently  :  but  I  have  great  confidence 
in  your  prudence ;  you  have  more  prudence  than  some  of  them. 
Your  tutor  seems  a  valuable  man,  from  what  you  tell  me,"  he 
went  on,  repeating  what  had  passed  between  him  and  Charles 
many  times  before ;  ""  a  sound,  well-judging  man,  that  Mr.  Yin- 
cent.  Sheffield  is  too  clever :  he  is  young :  you  have  an  older 
head.  It's  no  good  my  going  on ;  I  have  said  all  this  before ; 
and  you  may  be  late  for  the  rail.  Well,  God  bless  you,  my  dear- 
est Charlie,  and  make  you  a  blessing.  May  you  be  happier  and 
better  than  your  father !  I  have  ever  been  blessed  all  my  life 
long  —  wonderfully  blessed.  Blessings  have  been  poured  on  me 
from  my  youth,  far  above  my  deserts  ;  may  they  be  doubled  up- 
on you !     Good  by,  my  beloved  Charles,  good  by  !  " 

Charles  had  to  pass  a  day  or  two  at  the  house  of  a  relative 
who  lived  a  little  way  out  of  London.  While  he  was  there,  a 
letter  arrived  for  him,  forwarded  from  home ;  it  was  from  Willis, 
dated  from  London,  and  announced  that  he  had  come  to  a  very 
important  decision,  and  should  not  return  to  Oxford.  Charles 
was  fairly  in  the  world  again,  plunged  into  the  whirl  of  opinions  ! 
how  sad  a  contrast  to  his  tranquil  home  !  There  was  no  mistak- 
ing what  the  letter  meant ;  and  he  set  out  at  once  with  the  chance 
of  finding  the  writer  at  the  house  from  which  he  dated  it.  It 
was  a  lodging  at  the  west  end  of  town  ;  and  he  reached  it  about 
noon. 

He  found  Willis  in  company  with  a  person  apparently  two  or 
three  years  older.  WiUis  started  on  seeing  him.  "  Who  would 
6* 


6B  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

have  thought !  what  brings  you  here  ?  "  he  said ;  "  I  thought  you 
were  in  the  country."  Then  to  his  companion,  "This  is  the 
friend  I  was  speaking  to  you  about,  Morley.  A  happy  meeting ; 
sit  down,  dear  Reding  ;  I  have  much  to  tell  you."  Charles  sat 
down  all  suspense,  looking  at  Willis  with  such  keen  anxiety,  that 
the  latter  was  forced  to  cut  the  matter  short.  "  Reding,  I  am  a 
Catholic."  Charles  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  and  turned 
pale.  "  My  dear  Reding,  what  is  the  matter  with  jou  ?  why 
don't  you  speak  to  me  ? "  Charles  was  still  silent ;  at  last, 
stooping  forward,  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  his  head  on 
his  hands,  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  O  Willis,  what  have  you 
done  ! "  "  Done  ?  "  said  Willis  ;  "  what  you  should  do,  and  half 
Oxford  besides.  O  Reding,  I'm  so  happy!"  "Alas,  alas!" 
said  Charles  ;  "  but  what  is  the  good  of  my  staying  ?  —  all  good 
attend  you,  Willis ;  good  by."  "  No,  my  good  Reding,  you 
don't  leave  me  so  soon,  having  found  me  so  unexpectedly ;  and 
you  have  had  a  long  walk,  I  dare  say ;  sit  down,  there's  a  good 
fellow ;  we  shall  have  luncheon  soon,  and  you  must  not  go  with- 
out taking  your  part  in  it."  He  took  Charles's  hat  from  him  as 
he  spoke  ;  and  Charles,  in  a  mixture  of  feelings,  let  him  have 
his  way.  "  O  Willis,  so  you  have  separated  yourself  from  us 
forever !  "  he  said ;  "  you  have  taken  your  course,  we  keep  ours : 
our  paths  are  different."  "  Not  so,"  said  Willis ;  "  you  must  fol- 
low me,  and  we  shall  be  one  still."  Charles  was  half  oifended; 
"  Really  I  must  go,"  he  said,  and  he  rose;  "you  must  not  talk  in 
that  manner."  "  Pray,  forgive  me,"  answered  Willis  ;  "  I  won't 
do  so  again ;  but  I  could  not  help  it ;  I  am  not  in  a  common 
state,  I'm  so  happy." 

A  thought  struck  Reding.  "  Tell  me,  Willis,"  he  said,  "  your 
exact  position  ;  in  what  sense  are  you  a  Catholic  ?  What  is  to 
prevent  your  returning  with  me  to  Oxford  ?  "  His  companion 
interposed :  "  I  am  taking  a  liberty  perhaps,"  he  said  ;  "  but 
Mr.  Willis  has  been  regularly  received  into  the  Catholic 
Church."  "I  have  not  introduced  you,"  said  Willis.  "  Reding, 
let  me  introduce  Mr.  Morley ;  Morley,  Mr.  Reding.  Yes,  Re- 
ding, I  owe  it  to  him  that  I  am  a  Catholic.  I  have  been  on  a 
tour  with  him  abroad.  We  met  with  a  good  priest  in  France, 
who  consented  to  receive  my  abjuration."  "  Well,  I  think  he 
might  profitably  have  examined  into  your  state  of  mind  a  little 
before  he  did  so,"  said  Reding ;  "  you  are  not  the  person  to  become 
a  Catholic,  Willis."     "  What    do    you    mean  ?  "      "  Because," 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  67 

answered  Reding,  "  you  are  more  of  a  dissenter  than  a  Cath- 
olic. I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  added,  seeing  Willis  look  up 
sharply,  "  let  me  be  frank  with  you,  pray  do.  You  were  attached 
to  the  Church  of  Rome,  not  as  a  child  to  a  mother,  but  in  a  way- 
ward roving  way,  as  a  matter  of  fancy  or  liking,  or  (excuse  me) 
as  a  greedy  boy  to  some  object  of  taste  ;  and  you  pursued  your 
object  by  disobeying  the  authorities  set  over  you."  It  was  as 
much  as  Willis  could  bear  ;  he  said  he  thought  he  recollected  a 
text  about  *'  obeying  God  rather  than  men."  "  I  see  you  have 
disobeyed  men,"  retorted  Charles ;  "  I  trust  you  have  been  obey- 
ing God."     Willis  thought  him  rude,  and  would  not  speak. 

Mr.  Morley  began :  "  If  you  knew  the  circumstances  better," 
he  said,  "  you  would  doubtless  judge  differently.  I  consider  Mr. 
Willis. to  be  just  the  very  person  on  whom  it  was  incumbent  to 
join  the  Church,  and  who  will  make  an  excellent  Catholic. 
You  must  blame,  not  the  venerable  priest  who  received  him,  but 
me.  The  good  man  saw  his  devotion,  his  tears,  his  humihty, 
his  earnest  desire  ;  but  the  state  of  his  mind  he  learned  through 
me,  who  speak  French  better  than  Mr.  Willis.  However,  he  had 
quite  enough  conversation  with  him  in  French  and  Latin.  He 
could  not  reject  a  postulant  for  salvation ;  it  was  impossible. 
Had  you  been  he  you  would  have  done  the  same."  "  Well,  sir, 
perhaps  I  have  been  unjust  to  him  and  you,"  said  Charles  ; 
"  however,  I  cannot  augur  well  of  this."  "  You  are  judging,  sir,'* 
answered  Mr.  Morley,  "  let  me  say  it,  of  things  you  do  not  know. 
You  do  not  know  what  the  Catholic  religion  is  ;  you  do  not  know 
what  its  grace  is,  or  the  gift  of  faith."  The  speaker  was  a  lay- 
man ;  he  spoke  with  earnestness  the  more  intense,  because  quiet. 
Charles  felt  himself  reproved  by  his  manner ;  his  good  taste 
suggested  to  him  that  he  had  been  too  vehement  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  stranger ;  yet  he  did  not  feel  the  less  confidence  in  his 
cause.  He  paused  before  he  answered ;  then  he  said  briefly, 
that  he  was  aware  that  he  did  not  know  the  Roman  Catholic 
Religion,  but  he  knew  Mr.  Willis.  He  could  not  help  giving 
his  opinion  that  good  would  not  come  of  it.  "  /  have  ever  been 
a  Catholic,"  said  Mr.  Morley;  "so  far  I  cannot  judge  of  mem- 
bers of  the  Church  of  England  ;  but  this  I  know,  that  the  Catholic 
Church  is  the  only  true  church.  I  may  be  wrong  in  many 
things  ;  I  cannot  be  wrong  in  this.  This  too  I  know,  that  the 
Catholic  faith  is  one,  and  that  no  other  church  has  faith.  The 
Church  of  England  has  no  faith.  You,  my  dear  sir,  have  not 
faith." 


68  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

This  was  a  home  thrust ;  the  controversies  of  Oxford  passed 
before  Reding's  mind ;  but  he  instantly  recovered  himself. 
"  You  cannot  expect,"  said  he,  smiling,  "  that  I,  almost  a  boy, 
should  be  able  to  argue  with  yourself,  or  to  defend  my  church 
or  to  explain  her  faith.  I  am  content  to  hold  that  faith, 
to  hold  what  she  holds,  without  professing  to  be  a  divine.  This 
is  the  doctrine  which  I  have  been  taught  at  Oxford.  I  am  un- 
der teaching  there,  I  am  not  yet  taught.  Excuse  me,  then,  if  I 
decline  an  argument  with  you.  With  Mr.  Willis,  it  is  natural 
that  I  should  argue  ;  we  are  equals,  and  understand  each  other  ; 
but  I  am  no  theologian."  Here  Willis  cried  out,  "  O  my  dear 
Reding,  what  I  say  is,  '  Come  and  see.*  Don't  stand  at  the  door 
arguing :  but  enter  the  great  home  of  the  soul,  enter  and  adore." 
"  But,"  said  Reding,  "  surely  God  wills  us  to  be  guided  by  reason  ; 
I  don't  mean  that  reason  is  every  thing,  but  it  is  at  least  some- 
thing. Surely  we  ought  not  to  act  without  it,  against  it."  "But  is 
not  doubt  a  dreadful  state  ?  "  said  Willis,  "  a  most  perilous  state  ? 
No  state  is  safe  but  that  of  faith.  Can  it  be  safe  to  be 
without  faith  ?  Now  have  you  faith  in  your  church  ?  I  know 
you  welt  enough  to  know  you  have  not ;  where,  then,  are  you  ?  " 
"  Willis,  you  have  misunderstood  me  most  extraordinarily,"  said 
Charles ;  "  ten  thousand  thoughts  pass  through  the  mind,  and  if 
it  is  safe  to  note  down  and  bring  against  a  man  his  stray  words, 
I  suppose  there's  nothing  he  mayn't  be  accused  of  holding. 
You  must  be  alluding  to  some  half  sentence  or  other  of  mme, 
which  I  have  forgotten,  and  which  was  no  real  sample  of  my 
sentiments.  Do  you  mean  I  have  no  worship  ?  and  does  not 
worship  presuppose  faith?  I  have  much  to  learn,  I  am  con- 
scious ;  but  I  wish  to  learn  it  from  the  church  under  whose 
shadow  my  lot  is  cast,  and  with  whom  I  am  content."  "  He  con- 
fesses," said  Willis,  "  that  he  has  no  faith ;  he  confesses  that  he 
is  in  doubt.  My  dear  Reding,  can  you  sincerely  plead  that  you 
are  in  invincible  ignorance  after  what  has  passed  between  us  ; 
now,  suppose  for  an  instant  that  Catholicism  is  true,  is  it  not 
certain  that  you  now  have  an  opi^ortunity  of  embracing  it  ?  and 
if  you  do  not,  are  you  in  a  state  to  die  in  ?  " 

Reding  was  perplexed  how  to  answer ;  that  is,  he  could  not 
with  the  necessary  quickness  analyze  and  put  into  words  the 
answer  which  his  reason  suggested  to  Willis's  rapid  interroga- 
tories. Mr.  Morley  had  kept  silence,  lest  Charles  should  have 
two  upon  him  at  once ;  but  when  Willis  paused,  and  Charles  did 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  69 

not  reply,  he  interposed.  He  said  that  all  the  calls  in  Scripture 
were  obeyed  with  promptitude  by  those  who  were  called ;  and 
that  our  Lord  would  not  suffer  one  man  even  to  go  and  bury  his 
father.  Reding  answered,  that  in  those  cases  the  voice  of 
Christ  was  actually  heard ;  he  was  on  earth,  in  bodily  pres- 
ence ;  now,  however,  the  very  question  was,  which  was  the  voice 
of  Christ  ?  and  whether  the  Church  of  Rome  did  or  did  not 
speak  with  the  voice  of  Christ?  That  surely  we  ought  to  act 
prudently ;  that  Christ  could  not  wish  us  to  act  otherwise  ;  that 
for  himself  he  had  no  doubt  that  he  was  in  the  place  where 
Providence  wished  him  to  be  ;  but,  even  if  he  had  any  doubts 
whether  Christ  was  calling  him  elsewhere  (which  he  had  not), 
but  if  he  had,  he  should  certainly  think  that  Christ  called  him  in 
the  way  and  method  of  careful  examination,  —  that  prudence 
was  the  divinely  appointed  means  of  coming  at  the  truth. 
"  Prudence  !  "  cried  Willis,  "  such  prudence  as  St.  Thomas's,  I 
suppose,  when  he  determined  to  see  before  believing."  Charles 
hesitated  to  answer.  "  I  see  it,"  continued  Willis  ;  and  starting 
up,  he  seized  his  arm ;  "  come,  my  dear  fellow,  come  with  me 
directly ;  let  us  go  to  the  good  priest  who  lives  two  streets  off. 
You  shall  be  received  this  very  day.  On  with  your  hat."  And 
before  Charles  could  show  any  resistance,  he  was  half  out  of  the 
room.  He  could  not  help  laughing,  in  spite  of  his  vexation;  he 
disengaged  his  arm,  and  deliberately  sat  down.  "  Not  so  fast," 
he  said  ;  "  we  are  not  quite  this  sort  of  person."  Willis  looked 
awkward  for  a  moment ;  then  he  said,  "  Well,  at  least  you  must 
go  into  a  retreat ;  you  must  go  forthwith.  Morley,  do  you  know 
when  Mr.  de  Mowbray  or  Father  Agostino  gives  his  next 
retreat  ?  Reding,  it  is  just  what  you  want,  just  what  all  Oxford 
men  want ;  I  think  you  will  not  refuse  me."  Charles  looked  up 
in  his  face,  and  smiled.  "  It  is  not  my  line,"  he  said  at  length. 
"  I  am  on  my  way  to  Oxford.  I  must  go.  I  came  here  to  be 
of  use  to  you  ;  I  can  be  of  none,  so  I  must  go.  Would  I  could 
be  of  service  ;  but  it  is  hopeless.  O,  it  makes  my  heart  ache." 
And  he  went  on  brushing  his  hat  with  his  glove,  as  if  on  the 
point  of  rising,  yet  loath  to  rise. 

Morley  now  struck  in  :  he  spoke  all  along  like  a  gentleman, 
and  a  man  of  real  piety,  but  with  a  great  ignorance  of  Protes- 
tants, or  how  they  were  to  be  treated.  "  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Re- 
ding," he  said,  "  if,  before  you  go,  I  say  one  word.  I  feel  very 
much  for  the  struggle  which  is  going  on  in  your  mind  ;  and  I  am 


70  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

sure  it  is  not  for  such  as  me  to  speak  harshly  or  unkindly  to 
you.  The  struggle  between  conviction  and  motives  of  this  world 
is  often  long  ;  may  it  have  a  happy  termination  in  your  case  ! 
Do  not  be  oflfended  if  I  suggest  to  you  that  the  dearest  and 
closest  ties,  such  as  your  connection  with  the  Protestant  Church 
involves,  may  be  on  the  side  of  the  world  in  certain  cases.  It  is 
a  sort  of  martyrdom  to  have  to  break  such ;  but  they  who  do  so 
have  a  martyr's  reward.  And  then  at  a  University  you  have  so 
many  inducements  to  fall  in  with  the  prevailing  tone  of  thought ; 
prospects,  success  in  life,  good  opinion  of  friends  —  all  these  things 
are  against  you.  They  are  likely  to  choke  the  good  seed.  Well, 
I  could  have  wished  that  you  had  been  able  to  follow  the  dictates 
of  conscience  at  once  ;  but  the  conflict  must  continue  its  appoint- 
ed time  ;  we  will  hope  that  all  will  end  well." 

"  I  can't  persuade  these  good  people,"  thought  Charles,  as  he 
closed  the  street  door  after  him,  "  that  I  am  not  in  a  state  of 
conviction,  and  struggling  against  it ;  how  absurd  !  Here  I 
come  to  reclaim  a  deserter,  and  I  am  seized  even  bodily,  and 
against  my  will  all  but  hurried  into  a  profession  of  faith.  Do 
these  things  happen  to  people  every  day  ?  or  is  there  some  par- 
ticular fate  with  me  thus  to  be  brought  across  religious  contro- 
versies which  I  am  not  up  to  ?  la  Roman  Catholic !  what  a 
contrast  all  this  with  quiet  Hartley ! "  naming  his  home.  As 
he  continued  to  think  on  what  had  passed,  he  was  still  less  sat- 
isfied with  it  or  with  himself.  He  had  gone  to  lecture,  and  he 
had  been  lectured;  and  he  had  let  out  his  secret  state  of  mind  ; 
no,  not  let  out,  he  had  nothing  to  let  out.  He  had  indeed  im- 
plied that  he  was  inquiring  after  religious  truth,  but  every  Prot- 
estant inquires  ;  he  would  not  be  a  Protestant  if  he  did  not.  Of 
course  he  was  seeking  the  truth  ;  it  was  his  duty  to  do  so ;  he 
recollected  distinctly  his  tutor  laying  down,  on  one  occasion,  the 
duty  of  private  judgment.  This  was  the  very  difference  between 
Protestants  and  Catholics  ;  Catholics  begin  with  faith,  Prot- 
estants with  inquiry ;  and  he  ought  to  have  said  this  to  Willis. 
He  was  provoked  he  had  not  said  it ;  it  would  have  simplified 
the  question,  and  shown  how  far  lie  was  from  being  unsettled. 
Unsettled !  it  was  most  extravagant.  He  wished  this  had  but 
struck  him  during  the  conversation,  but  it  was  a  relief  that  it 
struck  him  now ;  it  reconciled  him  to  his  position. 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  71 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

The  first  day  of  Michaelmas  term  is,  to  an  undergraduate's 
furniture,  the  brightest  day  of  the  year.  Much  as  Charles  re- 
gretted home,  he  rejoiced  to  see  old  Oxford  again.  The  porter 
had  acknowledged  him  at  the  gate,  and  his  scout  had  smiled  and 
bowed,  as  he  ran  up  the  worn  staircase  and  found  a  blazing  fire 
to  welcome  him.  The  coals  crackled  and  split,  and  threw  up  a 
white  flame  in  strong  contrast  with  the  newly-blackened  bars 
and  hobs  of  the  grate.  A  shining  copper  kettle  hissed  and 
groaned  under  the  internal  torment  of  water  at  boiling  point. 
The  chimney  glass  had  been  cleaned,  the  carpet  beaten,  the 
curtains  fresh  glazed.  A  tea  tray  and  tea  commons  were 
placed  on  the  table ;  besides  a  battel  paper,  two  or  three  cards 
from  tradesmen  who  desired  his  patronage,  and  a  note  from  a 
friend  whose  term  had  already  commenced.  The  porter  came 
in  with  his  luggage,  and  had  just  received  his  too  ample  remu- 
neration, when,  through  the  closing  door,  in  rushed  Sheffield  in 
his  travelling  dress. 

"  Well,  old  fellow,  how  are  you  ?  "  he  said,  shaking  both  of 
Charles's  hands  or  rather  arms  with  all  his  might ;  "  here  we  are 
all  again  ;  I  am  just  come,  like  you.  Where  have  you  been  all 
this  time  ?  Come,  tell  us  all  about  yourself.  Give  me  some 
tea,  and  let's  have  a  good  jolly  chat."  Charles  liked  Sheffield, 
he  liked  Oxford,  he  was  pleased  to  get  back ;  yet  he  had  some 
remains  of  homesickness  on  him,  and  was  not  quite  in  cue  for 
Sheffield's  good-natured  boisterousness.  Willis's  matter,  too, 
was  still  on  his  mind.  "  Have  you  heard  the  news  ? "  said 
Sheffield ;  "  I  have  been  long  enough  in  college  to  pick  it  up. 
The  kitchen  man  was  full  of  it  as  I  passed  along.  Jack's  a  par- 
ticular friend  of  mine,  a  good  honest  fellow,  and  has  all  the 
gossip  of  the  place.  I  don't  know  what  it  means,  but  Oxford 
has  just  now  a  very  bad  inside.  The  report  is,  that  some  of  the 
men  have  turned  Romans ;  and  they  say  that  there  are  strangers 
going  about  Oxford  whom  no  one  knows  any  thing  of.  Jack, 
who  is  a  bit  of  a  divine  himself,  says  he  heard  the  Principal  say 
that,  for  certain,  there  were  Jesuits  at  the  bottom  of  it ;  and  I 
don't  know  what  he  means,  but  he  declares  he  saw  with  his  own 
eyes  the  Pope  walking  down  High  Street  with  the  priest.  I 
asked  him  how  he  knew  it  ?  he  said  he  knew  the  Pope  by  his 


72  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

slouching  hat  and  his  long  beard ;  and  the  porter  told  him  it  was 
the  Pope.  The  Dons  have  met  several  times ;  and  several 
tutors  are  to  be  discommoned,  and  their  names  stuck  up  against 
the  buttery  door.  Meanwhile  the  Marshal,  with  two  bulldogs, 
is  keeping  guard  before  the  Catholic  chapel ;  and,  to  complete 
it,  that  old  drunken  fellow  Topham  is  reported,  out  of  malice, 
when  called  in  to  cut  the  Warden  of  St.  Mary's  hair,  to  have 
made  a  clean  white  tonsure  atop  of  him." 

"  My  dear  Sheffield,  how  you  run  on  ! "  said  Reding.  "  Well, 
do  you  know,  I  can  tell  you  a  piece  of  real  news  bearing  on 
these  reports,  and  not  of  the  pleasantest.  Did  you  know  Willis, 
of  St.  George's ?  "  "I  think  I  once  saw  him  at  wine  in  your 
rooms ;  a  modest,  nice-looking  fellow,  who  never  spoke  a  word." 
"Ah,  I  assure  you,  he  has  a  tongue  in  his  head,  when  it  suits 
him,"  answered  Charles ;  "  yet  I  do  think,"  he  added  musingly, 
"  he's  very  much  changed,  and  not  for  the  better."  "  Well, 
what's  the  upshot  ?  "  asked  Sheffield.  "  He  has  turned  Catho- 
lic," said  Charles.  "  What  a  fool !  "  cried  Sheffield.  There 
was  a  pause.  Charles  felt  awkward;  then  he  said:  "I  can't 
say  I  was  surprised ;  yet  I  should  have  been  less  surprised  at 
White."  "O,  White  won't  turn  Catholic,"  said  Sheffield;  «he 
hasn't  it  in  him.  He's  a  coward."  "  Fools  and  cowards ! " 
answered  Charles :  "  thus  you  divide  the  world,  Sheffield  ? 
Poor  Willis !  "  he  added  ;  "  one  must  respect  a  man  who  acts 
according  to  his  conscience."  "  What  can  he  know  of  con- 
science ?  "  said  Sheffield ;  "  the  idea  of  his  swallowing,  of  his 
o\vn  free  will,  the  heap  of  rubbish  which  every  Catholic  has  to 
believe !  in  cold  blood,  tying  a  collar  round  his  neck,^and  polite- 
ly putting  the  chain  into  the  hands  of  a  priest  J  *  *  *  And 
then  the  Confessional !  'Tis  marvellous ! "  and  he  began  to 
break  the  coals  with  the  poker.  "  It's  very  well,"  he  continued, 
"  if  a  man  is  born  a  Catholic  ;  I  don't  suppose  they  really  be- 
lieve what  they  are  obliged  to  profess  ;  but  how  an  English- 
man, a  gentleman,  a  man  here  at  Oxford,  with  all  his  advan- 
tages, can  so  eat  dirt,  scraping  and  picking  up  all  the  dead  lies 
of  the  dark  ages  —  it's  a  miracle." 

"  Well,  if  there  is  any  thing  that  recommends  Romanism  to 
me,"  said  Charles,  "  it  is  what  you  so  much  dislike :  I'd  give 
twopence,  if  some  one,  whom  I  could  trust,  would  say  to  me  : 
*  This  is  true  ;  this  is  not  true.'  We  should  be  saved  this  eternal 
wrangling.     Wouldn't  you  be  glad  if  St.  Paul  could  come  to  life  ? 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  73 

I've  often  said  to  myself:  *0,  that  I  could  ask  St.  Padl  this  or 
that!'"  "But  the  Catholic  Church  isn't  St.  Paul  quite,  I 
guess,"  said  Sheffield.  "  Certainly  not ;  but  supposing  you  did 
think  it  had  the  inspiration  of  an  Apostle,  as  the  Roman  Catho- 
lics do,  what  a  comfort  it  would  be  to  know,  beyond  all  doubt, 
what  to  believe  about  God,  and  how  to  worship  and  please  Him ! 
I  mean  r  you  said,  '  I  can't  believe  this  or  that ; '  now  you  ought 
to  have  said,  '  I  can't  believe  the  Pope  has  'power  to  decide  this 
or  that.'  If  he  had,  you  ought  to  believe  it,  whatever  it  is,  and 
not  to  say,  *  I  can't  believe.' "  Sheffield  looked  hard  at  him  : 
"  We  shall  have  you  a  papist  some  of  these  fine  days,"  said  he. 
"  Nonsense,"  answered  Charles  ;  "  you  shouldn't  say  such  things, 
even  in  jest."  "  I  don't  jest ;  I  am  in  earnest :  you  are  plainly 
on  the  road."  "  Well,  if  I  am,  you  have  put  me  on  it,"  said 
Reding,  wishing  to  get  away  .from  the  subject  as  quick  as  he 
could ;  "  for  you  are^  ever  talking  against  shams,  and  laughing 
at  King  Charles  and  Laud,  Bateman,  White,  roodlofts,  and 
piscinas." 

"  Now  you  are  a  Puseyite,"  said  Sheffield,  in  surprise.  "  You 
give  me  the  name  of  a  very  good  man,  whom  I  hardly  know  by 
sight,"  said  Reding ;  "  but  I  mean,  that  nobody  knows  what  to 
believe,  no  one  has  a  definite  faith,  but  the  Catholics  and  the 
Puseyites ;  no  one  says,  '  This  is  true,  that  is  false  ; '  '  this 
comes  from  the  Apostles,  that  does  not.'"  "Then  would  you 
believe  a  Turk,"  asked  Sheffield,  "  who  came  to  you  with  his 
'  One  Allah,  and  Mahomet  his  Prophet ? '"  "I  did  not  say  a 
creed  was  every  thing,"  answered  Reding,  "  or  that  a  religion 
could  not  be  false  which  had  a  creed;  but  a  religion  can't  be 
true  which  has  none."  "  Well,  somehow  that  doesn't  strike 
me,"  said  Sheffield.  "  Now  there  was  Vincent  at  the  end  of 
term,  after  you  had  gone  down,"  continued  Charles ;  "  you  know 
I  staid  up  for  Littlego  ;  and  he  was  very  civil,  very  civil  in- 
deed. I  had  a  talk  with  him  about  Oxford  parties,  and  he 
pleased  me  very  much  at  the  time  ;  but  afterwards,  the  more  I 
thought  of  what  he  said,  the  less  was  I  satisfied;  that  is,  I  had 
got  nothing  definite  from  him.  He  did  not  say, 'this  is  true, 
that  is  false  ; '  but,  '  be  true,  be  true,  be  good,  be  good,  don't  go 
too  far,  keep  in  the  mean,  have  your  eyes  about  you,  eschew 
parties,  follow  our  divines,  all  of  them ; '  —  all  which  was  but 
putting  salt  on  the  bird's  tail.  I  want  some  practical  direction, 
not  abstract  truths."  "Vincent  is  a  humbug,"  said  Sheffield. 
7 


74  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

"Dr.  Pusey,  on  the  other  hand,"  continued  Charles,  "is  said 
always  to  be  decisive.  He  says,  *  This  is  Apostolic,  that's  in 
the  Fathers ;  St.  Cyprian  says  this,  St.  Augustine  denies  that ; 
this  is  safe,  that's  wrong ;  I  bid  you,  I  forbid  you.'  I  under- 
stand all  this ;  but  I  don't  understand  having  duties  put  on  me 
which  are  too  much  for  me.  I  don't  understand,  I  dislike,  hav- 
ing a  will  of  my  own,  when  I  have  not  the  means  to  use  it  justly. 
In  such  a  case,  to  tell  me  to  act  of  myself,  is  like  Pharaoh  setting 
the  Israelites  to  make  bricks  without  straw.  Setting  me  to  inquire, 
to  judge,  to  decide,  forsooth  !  it's  absurd ;  who  has  taught  me  ?  " 
"  But  the  Puseyites  are  not  always  so  distinct,"  said  Sheffield ; 
"  there's  Smith,  he  never  speaks  decidedly  in  difficult  questions. 
I  know  a  man  who  was  going  to  remain  in  Italy  for  some  years, 
at  a  distance  from  any  English  chapel,  —  he  could  not  help  it,  — 
and  who  came  to  ask  him  if  he  might  communicate  in  the  Catholic 
churches  ;  he  could  not  get  an  answl^r  from  him  ;  he  would  not 
say  yes  or  no."  "  Then  he  won't  have  many  followers,  that's 
all,"  said  Charles.  "  But  he  has  more  than  Dr.  Pusey,"  answered 
Sheffield.  "Well,  I  can't  understand  it,"  said  Charles;  "he 
ought  not ;  perhaps  they  won't  stay."  "  The  truth  is,"  said 
Sheffield,  "  I  suspect  he  is  more  of  a  sceptic  at  bottom."  "  Well, 
I  honor  the  man  who  builds  up,"  said  Red'ing,  "  and  I  despise 
the  man  who  breaks  down."  "I  am  inclined  to  think  you  have 
a  wrong  notion  of  building  up  and  pulling  down,"  answered 
Sheffield ;  "  Coventry,  in  his  Dissertations,  makes  it  quite  clear 
that  Christianity  is  not  a  religion  of  doctrines."  "  Who  is  Cov- 
entry ?  "  "  Not  know  Coventry  ?  he  is  one  of  the  most  original 
writers  of  the  day  ;  he's  an  American,  and,  I  believe,  a  congre- 
gationalist.  O,  I  assure  you  you  should  read  Coventry,  although 
he  is  wrong  on  the  question  of  church  government :  you  are  not 
well  au  courant  with  the  literature  of  the  day  unless  you  do. 
He  is  no  party  man  ;  he  is  a  correspondent  of  the  first  men  of 
the  day ;  he  stopped  with  the  Dean  of  Oxford  w^hen  he  was  in 
England,  who  has  pubhshed  an  English  edition  of  his  '  Disser- 
tations,' with  a  Preface  ;  and  he  and  Lord  Newlights  were  said 
to  be  the  two  most  witty  men  at  the  meeting  of  the  British  As- 
sociation, two  years  ago."  "  I  don't  like  Lord  Newlights,"  said 
Charles,  "  he  seems  to  me  to  have  no  principle ;  that  is,  no 
fixed,  definite,  religious  principle.  You  don't  know  where  to 
find  him.  This  is  what  my  father  thinks  ;  I  have  often  heard 
him  speak  of  him." 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  75 

"  It's  curious  you  should  use  the  word  principle,^'  said  Shef- 
field ;  "  for  it  is  that  which  Coventry  lays  such  stress  on.  He 
says  that  Christianity  has  no  creed  ;  that  this  is  the  very  point 
in  which  it  is  distinguished  from  other  religions  ;  that  you  will 
search  the  New  Testament  in  vain  for  a  creed ;  but  that  Scrip- 
ture is  full  of  principles.  The  view  is  very  ingenious,  and 
seemed  to  me  true,  when  I  read  the  book.  According  to  him, 
then,  Christianity  is  not  a  religion  of  doctrines  or  mysteries ; 
and  if  you  are  looking  for  dogmatism  in  Scripture,  it's  a  mis- 
take." Charles  was  puzzled.  "Certainly,"  he  said,  "at  first 
sight  there  is  no  Qreed  in  Scripture.  No  creed  in  Scripture," 
he  said  slowly,  as  if  thinking  aloud  ;  "  no  creed  in  Scripture, 
therefore  there  is  no  creed.  But  the  Athanasian  Creed,"  he 
added  quickly,  "is  that  in  Scripture  ?  It  either  is  in  Scripture, 
or  it  is  not.  Let  me  see,  it  either  is  there,  or  it  is  not.  What 
was  it  that  Freeborn  said  last  term  ?  *  *  *  Tell  me,  Shef- 
field, would  the  Dean  of  Oxford  say  that  the  creed  was  in  Scrip- 
ture or  not  ?  perhaps  you  do  not  fairly  explain  Coventry's  view ; 
what  is  your  impression  ?  "  "  Why,  I  will  tell  you  frankly,  my 
impression  is,  judging  from  his  Preface,  that  he  would  not 
scruple  to  say  that  it  is  not  in  Scripture,  but  a  scholastic  addi- 
tion." "  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Charles,  "  do  you  mean  that  he, 
a  dignitary  of  the  church,  would  say  that  the  Athanasian  Creed 
was  a  mistake,  because  it  represented  Christianity  as  a  revela- 
tion of  doctrines  or  mysteries  to  be  received  on  faith  ?  "  "  Well,* 
I  may  be  wrong,"  said  Sheffield,  "  but  so  I  understood  him." 
"  After  all,"  said  Charles,  sadly,  "  it's  not  so  much  more  than 
that  other  Dean,  I  forget  his  name,  said  at  St.  Mary's  before  the 
Vacation ;  it's  part  of  the  same  system.  O,  it  was  after  you 
went  down,  or  just  at  the  end  of  term  :  you  don't  go  to  sermons  ; 
I'm  inclined  not  to  go  either.  I  can't  enter  upon  the  Dean's 
argument ;  it's  not  worth  while.  Well,"  he  added,  standing  up 
and  stretching  himself,  "  I  am  tired  with  the  day,  yet  it  has  not 
been  a  fatiguing  one  either ;  but  London  is  so  bustling  a  place." 
"  You  wish  me  to  say  good  night,"  said  Sheffield.  Charles  did 
not  deny  the  charge  ;  and  the  friends  parted. 


W  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

There  could  not  have  been  a  lecture  more  unfavorable  for 
Charles's  peace  of  mind  than  that  in  which  he  found  himself 
this  term  placed ;  yet,  so  blind  are  we  to  the  future,  he  hailed 
it  with  great  satisfaction,  as  if  it  was  to  bring  him  an  answer  to 
the  perplexities  into  which  Sheffield,  Bateman,  Freeborn,  White, 
Willis,  Mr.  Morley,  Dr.  Brownside,  Mr.  Vincent,  and  the  gen- 
eral state  of  Oxford,  had  all,  in  one  way  or  other,  conspired  to 
throw  him.  He  had  shown  sucL  abilities  in  4;he  former  part  of 
the  year,  and  was  reading  so  diligently,  that  his  tutors  put  him 
prematurely  into  the  lecture  upon  the  Articles.  It  was  a  capital 
lecture  so  far  as  this,  that  the  tutor  who  gave  it  had  got  up  his 
subject  completely.  He  knew  the  whole  history  of  the  Articles, 
how  they  grew  into  their  present  shape,  with  what  fortunes,  what 
had  been  added,  and  when,  and  what  omitted.  With  this,  of 
course,  was  joined  an  explanation  of  the  text,  as  deduced,  as  far 
as  could  be,  from  the  historical  account  thus  given.  Not  only 
the  British,  but  the  foreign  Reformers  were  introduced  ;  and 
nothing  was  wanting,  at  least  in  the  intention  of  the  lecturer, 
for  fortifying  the  young  inquirer  in  the  doctrine  and  discipline 
of  the  Church  of  England. 

It  did  not  produce  this  effect  on  Reding.  Whether  he  had 
Expected  too  much,  or  whatever  was  the  cause,  so  it  was  that 
he  did  but  feel  more  vividly  the  sentiment  of  the  old  father  in 
the  comedy,  after  consulting  the  lawyers,  "  Incertior  sum  multo 
quam  anter  He  saw  that  the  profession  of  faith  contained  in 
the  Articles  was  but  a  patchwork  of  bits  of  orthodoxy,  Luther- 
anism,  Calvinism,  and  Zuinglism ;  and  this  too  on  no  principle ; 
that  it  was  but  the  work  of  accident,  if  there  be  such  a  thing  as 
accident ;  that  it  had  come  down  in  the  particular  shape  in  which 
the  English  Church  now  receives  it,  when  it  might  have  come 
down  in  any  other  shape ;  that  it  was  but  a  toss  up  that  Angli- 
cans at  this  day  were  not  Calvinists,  or  Presbyterians,  or  Luther- 
ans, equally  well  as  Episcopalians.  This  historical  fact  did  but 
clinch  the  difficulty,  or  rather  impossibility,  of  saying  what  the 
faith  of  the  English  Church  was.  On  almost  every  point  of 
dispute  the  authoritative  standard  of  doctrine  was  vague  or  in- 
consistent, and  there  was  an  imposing  weight  of  external  testi- 
mony in  favor  of  opposite  interpretations.     He  stopped  after 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  77 

lecture  once  or  twice,  and  asked  information  of  Mr.  Upton  the 
tutor,  who  was  quite  ready  to  give  it ;  but  nothing  came  of  these 
applications  as  regards  the  object  which  led  him  to  make  them. 

One  difficulty  which  Charles  experienced  was,  to  know 
whether,  according  to  the  Articles,  divine  truth  was  directly 
given  us,  or  whether  we  had  to  seek  it  for  ourselves  from  Scrip- 
ture. Several  Articles  led  to  this  question ;  and  Mr.  Upton, 
who  was  a  High  Churchman,  answered  him,  that  the  saving 
doctrine  neither  was  given  nor  was  to  be  sought,  but  that  it  was 
proposed  by  the  Church,  and  proved  by  the  individual.  Charles 
did  not  see  this  distinction  between  seeking  and  proving ;  for 
how  can  we  prove  except  by  seeking  (in  Scripture)  for  reasons  ? 
He  put  the  question  in  another  form,  and  asked  if  the  Christian 
religion  allowed  of  private  judgment?  This  was  no  abstruse 
question,  and  a  very  practical  one.  Had  he  asked  a  Wesleyan 
or  Independent,  he  would  have  an  unconditional  answer  in  the 
affirmative ;  had  he  asked  a  Catholic,  he  would  have  been  told 
that  we  used  our  private  judgment  to  find  the  Church,  and  then 
the  Church  superseded  it ;  but  from  this  Oxford  divine  he  could 
not  get  a  distinct  answer.  First,  he  was  told  that  doubtless  we 
must  use  our  judgment  in  the  determination  of  religious  doc- 
trine ;  but  next  he  was  told  that  it  was  sin  (as  it  undoubtedly 
is)  to  doubt  the  doctrine  of  the  Blessed  Trinity.  Yet,  while  he 
was  told  that  to  doubt  of  that  doctrine  was  a  sin,  he  was  told  in 
another  conversation  that  our  highest  state  here  is  one  of  doubt. 
What  did  this  mean  ?  Surely  certainty  was  simply  necessary  on 
some  points,  as  on  the  Object  of  worship  ;  how  could  we  worship 
what  we  doubted  of?  The  two  acts  were  contrasted  by  the 
EvangeHst ;  when  the  disciples  saw  our  Lord  after  the  resur- 
rection, "  they  worshipped  Him,  hut  some  doubted ; "  yet,  in 
spite  of  this,  he  was  told  that  there  was  "  impatience "  in  the 
very  idea  of  desiring  certainty. 

At  another  time  he  asked  whether  the  anathemas  of  the 
Athanasian  Creed  applied  to  all  its  clauses ;  for  instance, 
whether  it  is  necessary  to  salvation  to  hold  that  there  is  "  unus 
ceternus^'  as  the  Latin  has  it ;  or  "  such  as  the  Father,  *  *  * 
such  the  Holy  Ghost ; "  or  that  the  Holy  Ghost  is  "  by  Him- 
self God  and  Lord ; "  or  that  Christ  is  one  "  by  the  taking 
of  the  manhood  into  God  ? "  He  could  get  no  answer.  Mr. 
Upton  said,  that  he  did  not  like  extreme  questions ;  that  he 
could  not  and  did  not  wish  to  answer  them  ;  that  the  Creed  was 
7* 


78  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

written  against  heresies,  which  no  longer  existed,  as  a  sort  of 
protest  Reding  asked  whether  this  meant  that  the  Creed  did 
not  contain  a  distinctive  view  of  its  own,  which  alone  was  safe, 
but  was  merelj  a  negation  of  error.  The  clauses,  he  observed, 
were  positive,  not  negative.  He  could  get  no  answer  further 
than  that  the  Creed  taught  that  the  doctrines  of  "  the  Trinity  " 
and  "  the  Incarnation  "  were  "  necessary  to  salvation,"  it  being 
a2:)parently  left  uncertain  what  those  doctrines  consisted  in. 

One  day  he  asked  how  grievous  sins  were  to  be  forgiven, 
which  were  committed  after  baptism,  whether  by  faith,  or  not 
at  all  in  this  life  ?  He  was  answered  that  the  Articles  said 
nothing  on  the  subject ;  that  the  Romish  doctrine  of  pardons 
and  purgatory  was  false  ;  and  that  it  was  well  to  avoid  both 
curious  questions  and  subtle  answers. 

Another  question  turned  up  at  another  lecture,  viz.,  whether 
the  Real  Presence  meant  a  Presence  of  Christ  in  the  elements, 
or  in  the  soul,  i.  e.  in  the  faith  of  the  recipient ;  that  is,  whether 
the  Presence  was  really  such,  or  a  mere  name.  Mr.  Upton 
pronounced  it  an  open  question.  Another  day  Charles  asked 
whether  Christ  was  present  in  fact,  or  only  in  effect.  Mr.  Upton 
answered  decidedly  "  in  effect,**  which  seemed  to  Reding  to  mean 
no  real  presence  at  all. 

He  had  some  difficulty  in  receiving  the  doctrine  of  eternal 
punishment ;  it  had  seemed  to  him  the*  hardest  doctrine  of  reve- 
lation. Then  he  said  to  himself,  "  But  what  is  faith  in  its  very 
notion  but  an  acceptance  of  the  word  of  God,  when  reason  seems 
to  oppose  it .''  How  is  it  faith  at  all,  if  therg  is  nothing  to  try 
it  ^  "  This  thought  fully  satisfied  him.  The  only  question  was. 
Is  it  part  of  the  revealed  word  ?  "I  can  believe  it,"  he  said, 
"  if  I  know  for  certain  that  I  ought  to  believe  it ;  but  if  I  am  not 
bound  to  believe  it,  I  can't  beheve  it."  Accordingly  he  put  the 
question  to  Mr.  Upton,  whether  it  was  a  doctrine  of  the  Church 
of  England  ;  that  is,  whether  it  came  under  the  subscription  to 
the  Articles.  He  could  obtain  no  answer.  Yet  if  he  did  not 
believe  this  doctrine,  he  felt  the  whole  fabric  of  his  faith  shake 
under  him.     Close  upon  it  came  the  doctrine  of  the  atonement. 

It  is  difficult  to  give  instances  of  this  kind,  without  producing 
the  impression  on  the  reader's  mind  that  Charles  was  forward 
and  captious  in  his  inquiries.  Certainly  Mr.  Upton  had  his  own 
thoughts  about  him,  but  he  never  thought  his  manner  inconsist- 
ent with  modesty  and  respect  towai-ds  himself. 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  79 

Charles  naturally  was  full  of  the  subject,  and  would  have  dis- 
closed his  perplexities  to  Sheflfield,  had  he  not  had  a  strong  anti- 
cipation that  this  would  have  been  making  matters  worse.  He 
thought  Bateman,  however,  might  be  of  some  service,  and  he 
disburdened  himself  to  him  in  the  course  of  a  country  walk. 
"What  was  he  to  do  ?  for  on  his  entrance  he  had  been  told,  that 
when  he  took  his  degree  he  should  have  to  sign  the  Articles,  not 
on  faith  as  then,  but  on  reason;  yet  they  were  unintelligible; 
and  how  could  he  prove  what  he  could  not  construe  ? 

Bateman  seemed  unwilling  to  talk  on  the  subject ;  at  last  he 
said,  ''  O,  my  dear  Reding,  you  really  are  in  an  excited  state  of 
mind;  I  don't  like  to  talk  to  you  just  now,  for  you  will  not  see 
things  in  a  straightforward  way,  and  take  them  naturally.  What 
a  bugbear  you  are  conjuring  up  !  You  are  in  an  Article  lecture 
in  your  second  year ;  and  hardly  have  you  commenced,  but  you 
begin  to  fancy  what  you  will  or  will  not  think  at  the  end  of  your 
time.  Don't  ask  about  the  Articles  now  ;  wait  at  least  till  you 
have  seen  the  lecture  through."  "  It  really  is  not  my  way  to  be 
fussed  or  to  fidget,"  said  Charles  ;  "  though  I  own  I  am  not  so 
quiet  as  I  ought  to  be.  I  hear  so  many  different  opinions  in  con- 
versation ;  then  I  go  to  church,  and  one  preacher  deals  his  blows 
at  another  ;  lastly,  I  betake  myself  to  the  Articles,  and  really  I 
cannot  make  out  what  they  would  teach  me.  For  instance,  I 
cannot  make  out  their  doctrine  about  faith,  about  the  sacraments, 
about  predestination,  about  the  Church,  about  the  inspiration  of 
Scripture.  And  their  tone  is  so  unlike  the  Prayer  book.  Up- 
ton has  brought  this  out  in  liis  lectures  most  clearly."  "  Now, 
my  most  respectable  friend,"  said  Bateman,  "  do  think  for  a 
moment  what  men  have  signed  the  Articles.  Perhaps  King 
Charles  himself;  certainly  Laud,  and  all  the  great  Bishops  of 
his  day,  and  of  the  next  generation.  Think  of  the  most  ortho- 
dox Bull,  the  singularly  learned  Pearson,  the  eloquent  Taylor, 
Montague,  Barrow,  Thorndike,  good  dear  Bishop  Home,  and 
Jones  of  Nayland.  Can't  you  do  what  they  did  ? "  "  The 
argument  is  a  very  strong  one,"  said  Charles ;  "  I  have  felt  it : 
you  mean,  then,  I  must  sign  on  faith."  "  Yes,  certainly,  if  necessa- 
ry," said  Bateman.  "  And  how  am  I  to  sign  as  a  Master,  and 
when  I  am  ordained  ?  "  asked  Charles.  "  That's  what  I  mean 
by  fidgeting,"  answered  Bateman.  "You  are  not  content  with 
your  day ;  you  are  reaching  forward  to  five  years  hence." 
Charles  laughed.     "  It  isn't  quite  that,"  he  said, "  I  was  but  testing 


80  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

your  advice ;  however,  there's  some  truth  in  it."  And  he  changed 
the  subject. 

They  talked  a  while  on  indifferent  matters ;  but  on  a  pause 
Charles's  thoughts  fell  back  again  to  the  Articles.  "  Tell  me, 
Bateman,"  he  said,  "  as  a  mere  matter  of  curiosity,  how  you 
subscribed  when  you  took  your  degree."  "  O,  I  had  no  diffi- 
culty at  all,"  said  Bateman ;  "  the  examples  of  Bull  and  Pear- 
son were  enough  for  me."  "  Then  you  signed  on  faith."  "  Not 
exactly,  but  it  was  that  thought  which  smoothed  all  difficulties." 
"  Could  you  have  signed  without  it  ?  "  "  How  can  you  ask  me 
the  question  ?  of  course."  "  Well,  do  tell  me,  then,  what  was 
your  ground'^  "  "  O,  I  had  many  grounds.  I  can't  recollect  in 
a  moment  what  happened  some  time  ago."  "  O,  it  was  a  matter 
of  difficulty  ;  indeed,  you  said  so  just  now."  "  Not  at  all :  my 
only  difficulty  was,  not  about  myself,  but  how  to  state  the 
matter  to  other  people."  "  What !  some  one  suspected  you  ?  " 
"  No,  no  ;  you  are  quite  mistaken.  I  mean,  for  instance,  the 
Article  says  that  we  are  justified  by  faith  only ;  now  the  Protes- 
tant sense  of  this  statement  is  point  blank  opposite  to  our 
standard  divines  :  the  question  was,  what  I  was  to  say  when 
asked  my  sense  of  it."  "  I  understand,"  said  Charles  ;  "  now 
tell  me  how  you  solved  the  problem."  "  Well,  I  don't  deny  that 
the  Protestant  sense  is  heretical,"  answered  Bateman  ;  "  and  so 
is  the  Protestant  sense  of  many  other  things  in  the  Articles ; 
but  then  we  need  not  take  them  in  the  Protestant  sense."  "  Then 
in  what  sense  ?  "  "  Why,  first,"  said  Bateman, "  we  need  not  take 
them  in  any  sense  at  all.  Don't  smile ;  listen.  Great  author- 
ities, such  as  Laud  or  Bramhall,  seem  to  have  considered  that 
we  only  sign  the  Articles  as  articles  of  peace ;  not  as  really 
holding  them,  but  as  not  opposing  them.  Therefore,  wheri  we 
sign  the  Articles,  we  only  engage  not  to  preach  against  them." 
Reding  thought ;  then  he  said :  "  Tell  me,  Bateman,  would  not 
this  view  of  subscription  to  the  Articles  let  the  Unitarians  into 
the  church  ? "  Bateman  allowed  it  would,  but  the  Liturgy 
would  still  keep  them  out.  Charles  then  went  on  to  suggest 
that  they  would  take  the  Liturgy  as  a  Liturgy  of  peace  too. 
Bateman  began  again. 

"  If  you  want  some  tangible  principle,"  he  said,  "  for  inter- 
preting Articles  and  Liturgy,  I  can  give  you  one.  You  know,"  he 
continued,  after  a  short  pause,  "  what  it  is  we  hold  ?  Why,  we 
give  the  Articles   a  Catholic   interpretation."     Charles   looked 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  81 

inquisitive.  "  It  is  plain,"  continued  Bateman,  "  that  no  document 
can  be  a  dead  letter ;  it  must  be  the  expression  of  some  mind ; 
and  the  question  here  is,  whose  is  what  may  be  called  the  voice 
which  speaks  the  Articles.  Now,  if  the  Bishops,  Heads  of 
houses,  and  other  dignitaries  and  authorities,  were  unanimous  in 
their  religious  views,  and  one  and  all  said  that  the  Articles  meant 
this  and  not  that,  they,  as  the  imponents,  would  have  a  right  to 
interpret  them  ;  and  the  Articles  would  mean  what  they  said  they 
meant.  But  they  do  not  agree  together ;  some  of  them  are  di- 
ametrically opposed  to  others.  One  clergyman  denies  Apostoli- 
cal Succession,  another  affirms  it ;  one  denies  the  Lutheran  justi- 
fication, another  maintains  it ;  one  denies  the  inspiration  of 
Scripture,  a  second  holds  Calvin  to  be  a  saint,  a  third  considers 
the  doctrine  of  sacramental  grace  a  superstition,  a  fourth  takes 
part  with  Nestorius  against  the  Church,  a  fifth  is  a  Sabellian. 
It  is  plain,  then,  th^t  the  Articles  have  no  sense  at  all,  if  the 
collective  voice  of  Bishops,  Deans,  Professors,  and  the  like  is  to 
be  taken.  They  cannot  supply  what  schoolmen  call  the/orm  of 
the  Articles.  But  perhaps  the  writers  themselves  of  the  Arti- 
cles will  supply  it.  No  ;  for,  first,  we  don't  know  for  certain 
who  the  writers  were  ;  and  next,  the  Articles  have  gone  through 
so  many  hands,  and  so  many  mendings,  that  some  at  least  of  the 
original  authors  would  not  like  to  be  responsible  for  them. 
Well,  let  us  go  to  the  Convocations  which  ratified  them  :  but 
they,  too,  were  of  diff'erent  sentiments  ;  the  seventeenth  century 
did  not  hold  the  doctrine  of  the  sixteenth.  Such  is  the  state  of 
the  case.  On  the  other  hand,  we  say  that  if  the  Anglican 
Church  be  a  part  of  the  Church  Catholic,  it  must,  from  the  ne- 
cessity of  the  case,  hold  Cathohc  doctrine.  Therefore,  the  whole 
Catholic  Creed,  the  acknowledged  doctrine  of  the  Fathers,  of 
St.  Ignatius,  St.  Cyprian,  St.  Augustin,  St.  Ambrose,  is  the/orm, 
is  the  one  true  sense  and  interpretation  of  the  Articles.  They 
may  be  ambiguous  in  themselves  ;  they  may  have  been  worded 
with  various  intentions  by  the  individuals  concerned  in  their  com- 
position :  but  these  are  accidents  ;  the  Church  knows  nothing  of 
individuals  ;  she  interprets  herself." 

Reding  took  some  time  to  think  over  this  :  "  All  this,"  he 
said,  "  proceeds  on  the  fundamental  principle  that  the  Church 
of  England  is  an  integral  part  of  that  visible  body,  of  which  St. 
Ignatius,  St.  Cyprian,  and  the  rest  were  Bishops  ;  according  to 
the  words  of  Scripture,  '  one  body,  one  faith.' "     Bateman  as- 


82  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

sented ;  Charles  proceeded :  "  Then  the  Articles  must  not  be 
considered  primarily  as  teaching ;  they  have  no  one  sense  in 
themselves ;  tliey  are  confessedly  ambiguous ;  they  are  com- 
piled from  heterogeneous  sources ;  but  all  this  does  not  matter, 
for  all  must  be  interpreted  by  the  teaching  of  the  Catholic 
Church."  Bate  man  agreed  in  the  main,  except  that  he  had 
stated  the  case  rather  too  strongly.  "  But  what  if  the  latter 
contradicts  a  doctrine  of  the  Fathers  ?  am  I  to  force  the  letter?" 
"  If  such  a  case  actually  happened,  the  theory  would  not  hold," 
answered  Bateman  ;  "  it  would  only  be  a  gross  quibble.  You 
can  in  no  case  sign  an  Article  in  a  sense  which  its  words  will 
not  bear.  But  fortunately,  or  rather  providentially,  this  is  not 
the  case  ;  we  have  merely  to  explain  ambiguities,  and  harmo- 
nize discrepancies.  The  Catholic  interpretation  does  no  greater 
violence  to  the  text  than  any  other  rule  of  interpretation  will  be 
found  to  do."  "  Well,  but  I  know  nothing  (^  the  Fathers,"  said 
Charles  ;  "  others  are  in  the  same  condition ;  how  am  I  to  learn 
practically  to  interpret  the  Articles  ?  "  "  By  the  Prayer  book  ; 
the  Prayer  book  is  the  voice  of  the  Fathers."  "  How  so  ? " 
"  Because  the  Prayer  book  is  confessedly  ancient,  while  the 
Articles  are  modern." 

Charles  kept  silence  again :  "  It  is  very  plausible,"  he  said ; 
he  thought  on.  Presently  he  asked :  "  Is  this  a  received  view  ?  " 
"  No  view  is  received,"  said  Bateman ;  "  the  Articles  them 
selves  are  received,  but  there  is  no  authoritative  interpretation  of 
them  at  all.  That's  what  I  was  saying  just  now ;  Bishops  and 
Professors  don't  agree  together."  "  Well,"  said  Charles,  "  is  it 
a  tolerated  view  ?"  "  It  has  certainly  been  strongly  opposed," 
answered  Bateman ;  "  but  it  has  never  been  condemned." 
"  That  is  no  answer,"  said  Charles,  who  saw  by  Bateman's  man- 
ner how  the  truth  lay.  "  Does  any  one  Bishop  hold  it  ?  did  any 
one  Bishop  ever  hold  it  ?  has  it  ever  been  formally  admitted  as 
tenable  by  any  one  Bishop  ?  is  it  a  view  got  up  to  meet  existing 
difficulties,  or  has  it  an  historical  existence  ?  "  Bateman  could 
give  but  one  answer  to  these  questions,  as  they  were  successive- 
ly put  to  him.  "  I  thought  so,"  said  Charles,  when  he  had  made 
his  answer :  "  I  know,  of  course,  whose  view  you  are  putting 
before  me,  though  I  never  heard  it  drawn  out  before.  It  is 
specious,  certainly ;  I  don't  see  but  it  might  have  done,  had  it 
been  tolerably  sanctioned ;  but  you  have  no  sanction  to  show 
me.     It  is,  as  it  stands,  a  mere  theory  struck  out  by  individuals. 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  83 

Our  Church  might  have  adopted  this  mode  of  interpreting  the 
Articles  ;  but  from  what  you  tell  me,  it  certainly  has  not  done  so. 
I  am  where  I  was." 


CHAPTER    XVI 


The  thought  once  came  across  Reding,  whether  perhaps, 
after  all,  what  is  called  Evangelical  Religion  was  not  the  true 
Christianity :  its  professors,  he  knew,  were  active  and  influen- 
tial, and  in  past  times  had  been  much  persecuted.  Freeborn 
had  surprised  and  offended  him  at  Bateman's  breakfast  party 
before  the  Vacation  ;  yet  Freeborn  had  a  serious  manner  about 
him,  and  perhaps  he  had  misunderstood  him.  The  thought, 
however,  passed  away  as  suddenly  as  it  came,  and  perhaps 
would  not  have  occurred  to  him  again,  when  an  accident  gave 
him  some  data  for  determining  the  question. 

One  afternoon  he  was  lounging  in  the  Parks,  gazing  with  sur- 
prise on  one  of  those  extraordinary  lights  for  which  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Oxford  is  at  that  season  celebrated,  and  which,  as 
the  sun  went  down,  was  coloring  Marston,  Elsfield,  and  their 
half-denuded  groves  with  a  pale  gold-and-brown  hue,  when  he 
found  himself  overtaken  and  addressed  by  the  said  Freeborn  in 
propria  persona.  Freeborn  liked  a  tete-d-tete  talk  much  better 
than  a  dispute  in  a  party ;  he  felt  himself  at  more  advantage  in 
long  leisurely  speeches,  and  he  was  soon  put  out  of  breath  when 
he  had  to  bolt  out  or  edge  in  his  words  amid  the  ever-varying 
voices  of  a  breakfast  table.  He  thought  the  present  might  be 
a  good  opportunity  of  doing  good  to  a  poor  youth,  who  did  not 
know  chalk  from  cheese,  and  who,  by  his  means,  might  be,  as 
he  would  word  it,  "  savingly  converted."  So  they  get  into  con- 
versation, talked  of  Willis's  step,  which  Freeborn  called  awful ; 
and,  before  Charles  knew  where  he  was,  he  found  himself  ask- 
ing Freeborn  what  he  meant  by  "  faith." 

"  Faith,"  said  Freeborn,  "  is  a  divine  gift,  and  is  the  instru- 
ment of  our  justification  in  God's  sight.  We  are  all  by  nature 
displeasing  to  Him,  till  He  justifies  us  freely  for  Christ's  sake. 
Faith  is  like  a  hand,  appropriating  personally  the  merits  of 
Christ,  or  is  our  justification.     Now,  what  can  we  want  more, 


84  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

or  have  more,  than  those  merits  ?  Faith,  then,  is  every  thing, 
and  does  every  thing  for  us.  You  see,  then,  how  important  it 
is  to  have  a  right  view  about  justification  by  faith  only.  If  we 
are  sound  on  this  capital  point,  every  thing  else  may  take  its 
chance  ;  we  shall  at  once  see  the  folly  of  contending  about  cere- 
monies, about  forms  of  Church  government,  about,  I  will  even 
say,  sacraments  or  creeds.  External  things  will,  in  that  case, 
either  be  neglected,  or  will  find  a  subordinate  place."  Reding 
observed  that  of  course  Freeborn  did  not  mean  to  say  that  good 
works  were  not  necessary  for  obtaining  God's  favor;  "but  if 
they  were,  how  was  justification  by  faith  only  ? "  Freeborn 
smiled,  and  said  that  he  hoped  Reding  would  have  clearer  views 
in  a  little  time.  It  was  a  very  simple  matter.  Faith  not  only 
justified,  it  regenerated  also.  It  was  the  root  of  sanctification, 
as  well  as  of  divine  acceptance.  The  same  act,  which  was  the 
means  of  bringing  us  into  God's  favor,  secured  our  being  meet 
for  it.  Thus  good  works  were  secured,  because  faith  would  not 
be  true  faith  unless  it  were  such  as  to  be  certain  of  bringing 
forth  good  works  in  due  time. 

Reding  thought  this  view  simple  and  clear,  though  it  un- 
pleasantly reminded  him  of  Dr.  Brownside.  Freeborn  added, 
that  it  was  a  doctrine  suited  to  the  poor,  that  it  put  all  the  gospel 
into  a  nutshell,  that  it  dispensed  with  criticism,  primitive  ages, 
teachers,  in  short  with  authority  in  whatever  form.  It  swept 
theology  clean  away.  There  was  no  need  to  mention  this  last 
consequence  to  Charles  ;  but  he  passed  it  by,  wishing  to  try  the 
system  on  its  own  merits.  "  You  speak  of  true  faith,"  he  said, 
"  as  producing  good  works  :  you  say  that  no  faith  justifies  hut 
true  faith,  and  true  faith  produces  good  works.  In  other  words, 
I  suppose,  faith,  which  is  certain  to  be  fruitful^  or  fruitful  faith, 
justifies.  This  is  very  like  saying  that  faith  and  works  are  the 
joint  means  of  justification."  "  O,  no,  no,"  cried  Freeborn, 
"  that  is  deplorable  doctrine :  it  is  quite  opposed  to  the  gospel, 
it  is  anti- Christian.  We  are  justified  by  faith  only,  apart  from 
good  works."  "  I  am  in  an  Article  lecture  just  now,"  said 
Charles,  "  and  Upton  told  us  that  we  must  make  a  distinction  of 
this  kind :  for  instance,  the  Duke  of  Wellington  is  Chancellor  of 
the  University,  but,  though  he  is  as  much  Chancellor  as  Duke, 
still  he  sits  in  the  House  of  Lords  as  Duke,  not  as  Chancellor. 
Thus,  although  faith  is  as  truly  fruitful  as  it  is  faith,  yet  it  does 
not  justify  as  being  fruitful,  but  as  being  faith.     Is  this  what  you 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  85 

mean  ?  "  "  Not  at  all,"  said  Freeborn ;  "  that  was  Melancthon's 
doctrine ;  he  explained  away  a  cardinal  truth  into  a  mere  matter 
of  words  :  he  made  faith  a  mere  symbol,  but  this  is  a  departure 
from  the  pure  gospel :  faith  is  the  instrument,  not  a  symbol  of 
Justification.  It  is,  in  truth,  a  mere  apprehension,  and  nothing 
else :  the  seizing  and  clinging  which  a  beggar  might  venture  on, 
when  a  king  passed  by.  Faith  is  as  poor  as  Job  in  the  ashes  : 
it  is  like  Job  stripped  of  all  pride  and  pomp  and  good  works : 
it  is  covered  with  filthy  rags  :  it  is  without  any  thing  good :  it 
is,  I  repeat,  a  mere  apprehension.  Now  you  see  what  I  mean." 
"I  can't  believe  I  understand  you,"  said  Charles:  "you  say, 
that  to  have  faith  is  to  seize  Christ's  merits,  and  that  we  have 
them,  if  we  will  but  seize  them.  But  surely  not  every  one  who 
seizes  them,  gains  them ;  because  dissolute  men,  who  never  have 
a  dream  of  thorough  repentance  or  real  hatred  of  sin,  would 
gladly  seize  and  appropriate  them,  if  they  might  do  so.  They 
would  like  to  get  to  heaven  for  nothing.  Faith,  then,  must  be 
some  particular  Mud  of  apprehension  :  what  kind  ?  good  works 
cannot  be  mistaken,  but  an  'apprehension'  may.  What,  then, 
is  a  true  apprehension  ?  what  is  faith  ?  "  "  What  need,  my  dear 
friend,"  answered  Freeborn,  "of  knowing  metaphysically  what 
true  faith  is,  if  we  have  it  and  enjoy  it  ?  I  do  not  know  what 
bread  is,  but  I  eat  it ;  do  I  wait  till  a  chemist  analyzes  it  ?  No, 
I  eat  it  and  I  feel  the  good  effects  afterwards.  And  so  let  us  be 
content  to  know,  not  what  faith  is,  but  what  it  does,  and  enjoy 
our  blessedness  in  possessing  it."  "  I  really  don't  want  to  intro- 
duce metaphysics,"  said  Charles,  "  but  I  will  adopt  your  own 
image.  Suppose  I  suspected  the  bread  before  me  to  have  arsenic 
in  it,  or  to  be  merely  unwholesome,  would  it  be  wonderful  if  I 
tried  to  ascertain  how  the  fact  stood  ?  "  "  Did  you  do  so  this 
morning  at  breakfast  ?  "  asked  Freeborn.  "  I  did  not  suspect 
my  bread,"  answered  Charles.  "  Then  why  suspect  faith  ?  " 
asked  Freeborn.  "  Because  it  is,  so  to  say,  a  new  substance  " 
—  (Freeborn  sighed)  — "  because  I  am  not  used  to  it,  nay, 
because  I  suspect  it.  I  must  say  suspect  it;  because,  though  I 
don't  know  much  about  the  matter,  I  know  perfectly  well,  from 
what  has  taken  place  in  my  father's  parish,  what  excesses  this 
doctrine  may  lead  to,  unless  it  is  guarded.  You  say,  that  it  is  a 
doctrine  for  the  poor  ;  now  they  are  very  likely  to  mistake  one 
thing  for  another ;  so  indeed  is  every  one.  If,  then,  we  are 
told,  that  we  have  but  to  apprehend  Christ's  merits,  and  need 


86  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

not  trouble  ourselves  about  any  thing  else  ;  that  justification  has 
taken  place,  and  works  will  follow  ;  that  all  is  done,  and  that 
salvation  is  complete,  while  we  do  but  continue  to  have  faith ;  I 
think  we  ought  to  be  pretty  sure  that  we  have  faith,  real  faith, 
a  real  apprehension,  before  we  shut  up  our  books  and  make 
holiday." 

Freeborn  was  secretly  annoyed  that  he  had  got  into  an  argu- 
ment, or  pained,  as  he  would  express  it,  at  the  pride  of  Charles's 
natural  man,  or  the  blindness  of  his  carnal  reason  ;  but  there 
was  no  help  for  it,  he  must  give  him  an  answer.  "  There  are, 
I  know,  many  kinds  of  faith,"  he  said,  "  and  of  course  you  must 
be  on  your  guard  against  mistaking  false  faith  for  true  faith. 
Many  persons,  as  you  most  truly  say,  make  this  mistake ;  and 
most  important  is  it,  all-important  I  should  say,  to  go  right. 
First,  it  is  evident  that  it  is  not  mere  belief  in  facts,  in  the  being 
of  a  God,  or  in  the  historical  event  that  Christ  has  come  and 
gone.  Nor  is  it  the  submission  of  the  reason  to  mysteries  ;  nor, 
again,  is  it  that  sort  of  trust  which  is  required  for  exercising  the 
gift  of  miracles.  Nor  is  it  knowledge  and  acceptance  of  the  con- 
tents of  the  Bible.  I  say,  it  is  not  knowledge,  it  is  not  assent  of 
the  intellect,  it  is  not  historical  faith,  it  is  not  dead  faith  :  true 
justifying  faith  is  none  of  these  —  it  is  seated  in  the  heart  and 
affections."  He  paused,  then  added :  "  Now,  I  suppose,  for 
practical  purposes,  I  have  described  pretty  well  what  justifying 
faith  is."  Charles  hesitated  :  "  By  describing  what  it  is  not,  you 
mean,"  said  he;  "justifying  faith,  then,  is,  I  suppose,  living 
faith."  "Not  so  fast,"  answered  Freeborn.  "Why,"  said 
Charles,  "  if  it's  not  dead  faith,  it's  living  faith."  "  It's  neither 
dead  faith  nor  living,"  said  Freeborn,  "  but  faith,  simple  faith, 
which  justifies.  Luther  was  displeased  with  Melanchthon  for 
saying  that  living  and  operative  faith  justified.  I  have  studied 
the  question  very  carefully."  "Then  do  you  tell  me,"  said 
Charles,  "  what  faith  is,  since  I  do  not  explain  it  correctly.  For 
instance,  if  you  said  (what  you  don't  say),  that  faith  was  submis- 
sion of  the  reason  to  mysteries,  or  acceptance  of  Scripture  as  an 
historical  document,  I  should  know  perfectly  well  what  you 
meant ;  that  is  information :  but  when  you  say,  that  faith  which 
justifies  is  an  apprehension  of  Christ,  that  it  is  not  living  faith,  or 
fruitful  faith,  or  operative,  but  a  something  which  in  fact  and 
actually  is  distinct  from  these,  I  confess  I  feel  perplexed." 

Freeborn  wished  to  be  out  of  the  argument.     "  O,"  he  said, 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  •         87 

"  if  you  really  once  experienced  the  power  of  faith  —  how  it 
changes  the  heart,  enlightens  the  eyes,  gives  a  new  spiritual 
taste,  a  new  sense  to  the  soul;  if  you  once  knew  what  it  was  to 
be  blind,  and  then  to  see,  you  would  not  ask  for  definitions. 
Strangers  need  verbal  descriptions  ;  the  heirs  of  the  kingdom  en- 
joy. 0,  if  you  could  but  be  persuaded  to  put  off  high  imaginations, 
to  strip  yourself  of  your  proud  self,  and  to  experience  in  yourself 
the  wonderful  change,  you  would  live  in  praise  and  thanksgiving, 
instead  of  argument  and  criticism."  Charles  was  touched  by  his 
warmth ;  "  But,"  he  said,  "  we  ought  to  act  by  reason ;  and  I 
don't  see  that  I  have  more,  or  so  much,  reason  to  listen  to  you, 
as  to  listen  to  the  Roman  Catholic,  who  tells  me  I  cannot  pos- 
sibly have  that  certainty  of  faith  before  believing,  which  on  be- 
lieving will  be  divinely  given  me."  "  Surely,"  said  Freeborn, 
with  a  grave  face,  "  you  would  not  compare  the  spiritual  Chris- 
tian, such  as  Luther,  holding  his  cardinal  doctrine  about  justifi- 
cation, to  any  such  formal,  legal,  superstitious  devotee  as  Popery 
can  make  with  its  carnal  rites  and  quack  remedies,  which  never 
really  cleanse  the  soul  or  reconcile  it  to  God  ?  "  "I  don't  like 
you  to  talk  so,"  said  Reding  ;  "  I  know  very  little  about  the  real 
nature  of  Popery  ;  but  when  I  was  a  boy,  I  was  once,  by  chance, 
in  a  Roman  Catholic  chapel ;  and  I  really  never  saw  such  devo- 
tion in  my  life  —  the  people  all  on  their  knees,  and  most 
earnestly  attentive  to  what  was  going  on.  I  did  not  understand 
what  that  was ;  but  I  am  sure,  had  you  been  there,  you  never 
would  have  called  their  religion,  be  it  right  or  wrong,  an  out- 
ward form  or  carnal  ordinance."  Freeborn  said  it  deeply  pained 
him  to  hear  such  sentiments,  and  to  find  that  Charles  was  so 
tainted  with  the  errors  of  the  day  ;  and  he  began,  not  with  much 
tact,  to  talk  with  the  Papal  Antichrist,  and  would  have  got  off 
to  prophecy,  had  Charles  said  a  word  to  afford  fuel  for  discus- 
sion. As  he  kept  silence,  Freeborn's  zeal  burned  out,  and  there 
was  a  break  in  the  conversation. 

After  a  time.  Reding  ventured  to  begin  again.  "  If  I  under- 
stand you,"  he  said,  "  faith  carries  its  own  evidence  with  it. 
Just  as  I  eat  my  bread  at  breakfast  without  hesitation  about  its 
wholesomeness,  so,  when  I  have  really  faith,  I  know  it  beyond 
mistake,  and  need  not  look  out  for  tests  of  it  ?  "  "  Precisely 
BO,"  said  Freeborn  ;  "  you  begin  to  see  what  I  mean  ;  you  grow. 
The  soul  is  enlightened  to  see  that  it  has  real  faith."  "  But 
how,"  asked  Charles,  "  are  we  to  rescue  those  from  their  danger- 


88         •  LOSS    AND    GAIN, 

ous  mistake,  who  think  they  have  faith,  while  they  have  not  ? 
Is  there  no  way  in  which  they  can  find  out  that  they  are  under 
a  delusion  ?  "  "  It  is  not  wonderful,"  said  Freeborn,  "  though 
there  be  no  way.  There  are  many  self-deceivers  in  the  world. 
Some  men  are  self-righteous,  trust  in  their  own  works,  and  think 
they  are  safe  when  they  are  in  a  state  of  perdition  ;  no  formal 
rules  can  be  given  by  which  their  reason  might  for  certain 
detect  their  mistake.  And  so  of  false  faith."  "  Well,  it  does 
seem  to  me  wonderful,"  said  Charles,  "  that  there  is  no  natural 
and  obvious  warning  provided  against  this  delusion  ;  wonderful 
that  false  faith  should  be  so  exactly  like  true  faith  that  the  event 
alone  determines  their  diflferences  from  each  other.  Effects  im- 
ply causes  ;  if  one  apprehension  of  Christ  leads  to  good  works, 
and  another  does  not,  there  must  be  something  in  the  one  which 
is  not  in  the  other.  What  is  a  false  apprehension  of  Christ 
wanting  in,  which  a  true  apprehension  has  ?  The  word  appre- 
hension is  so  vague ;  it  conveys  no  definite  idea  to  me,  yet  justi- 
fication depends  on  it.  Is  it,  for  instance,  wanting  in  repentance 
and  amendment  ?  "  "  No,  no,"  said  Freeborn  ;  "  true  faith  is 
complete  without  conversion ;  conversion  follows ;  but  faith  is 
the  root."  "  Is  it  the  love  of  God  which  distinguishes  true  faith 
from  false  ?  "  "  Love  ?  "  answered  Freeborn  ;  "  you  should  read 
what  Luther  says  in  his  celebrated  comment  on  the  Galatians. 
He  calls  such  a  doctrine  ^ pestilens  Jigmentum,^  '  diaholi portentum.^ 
and  cries  out  against  the  Papists,  '  Pereant  sophistce  cum  sua 
maledictd  glossd  !  ' "  "  Then  it  differs  from  false  faith  in  nothing." 
"  Not  so,"  said  Freeborn ;  "  it  differs  from  it  in  its  fruits :  '  By 
their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them.' "  "  This  is  coming  round  to 
the  same  point  again,"  said  Charles  ;  "  fruits  come  after  ;  but  a 
man,  it  seems,  is  to  take  comfort  in  his  justification  before  fruits 
come,  before  he  knows  that  his  faith  will  produce  them."  "  Good 
works  are  the  necessary  fruits  of  faith,"  said  Freeborn  ;  "  so  says 
the  Article."  Charles  made  no  answer,  but  said  to  himself,  "  My 
good  friend  here  certainly  has  not  the  clearest  of  heads  ; "  then 
aloud,  "  Well,  I  despair  of  getting  at  the  bottom  of  the  subject." 
"  Of  course,"  answered  Freeborn,  with  an  air  of  superiority, 
though  in  a  mild  tone,  "  it  is  a  very  simple  principle,  '  Fides 
justijicat  ante  et  sine  charitate  ; '  but  it  requires  a  divine  light 
to  embrace  it."  They  walked  a  while  in  silence ;  then,  as  the 
day  was  now  closing  in,  they  turned  homewards,  and  parted 
company  when  they  came  to  the  Clarendon. 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  89 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

Freeborn  was  not  the  person  to  let  go  a  young  man  like 
Charles  without  another  effort  to  gain  him  ;  and  in  a  few  days 
he  invited  him  to  take  tea  at  his  lodgings.  Charles  went  at  the 
appointed  time,  through  the  wet  and  cold  of  a  dreary  November 
evening,  and  found  five  or  six  men  already  assembled.  He  had 
got  into  another  world ;  faces,  manners,  speeches,  all  were  strange, 
and  savored  neither  of  Eton,  which  was  his  own  school,  nor  of 
Oxford  itself.  He  was  introduced,  and  found  the  awkwardness 
of  a  new  acquaintance  little  relieved  by  the  conversation  which 
went  on.  It  was  a  dropping  fire  of  serious  remarks  ;  with  pauses, 
relieved  only  by  occasional  "  ahems,"  the  sipping  of  tea,  the 
sound  of  spoons  falling  against  the  saucers,  and  the  blind  shifting 
of  chairs  as  the  flurried  servant  maid  of  the  lodgings  suddenly 
came  upon  them  from  behind,  with  the  kettle  for  the  teapot,  or 
toast  for  the  table.  There  was  no  nature  or  elasticity  in  the 
party,  but  a  great  intention  to  be  profitable. 
.  "  Have  you  seen  the  last  '  Spiritual  .Journal '  ?  "  asked  No.  1 
of  No.  2  in  a  low  voice.  No.  2  had  just  read  it.  "  A  very  re- 
markable article  that,"  said  No.  1,  "  upon  the  death  bed  of  the 
Pope."  "  No  one  is  beyond  hope,"  answered  No.  2.  "  I  have 
heard  of  it,  but  not  seen  it,"  said  No.  3.  A  pause.  "  What  is 
it  about  ?  "  asked  Reding.  "  The  late  Pope  Sixtus  the  Sixteenth," 
said  No.  3 ;  "he  seems  to  have  died  a  believer."  A  sensation. 
Charles  looked  as  if  he  wished  to  know  more.  "  The  '  Journal  * 
gives  it  on  excellent  authority,"  said  No.  2  ;  "  Mr.  O'Niggins, 
the  agent  for  the  Roman  Priest  Conversion  Branch  Tract  Soci- 
ety, was  in  Rome  during  his  last  illness.  He  solicited  an  au- 
dience with  the  Pope,  which  was  granted  to  him.  He  at  once 
began  to  address  him  on  the  necessity  of  a  change  of  heart,  be- 
lief in  the  one  Hope  of  sinners,  and  abandonment  of  all  creature 
mediators.  He  announced  to  him  the  glad  tidings,  and  assured 
him  there  was  pardon  for  all.  He  warned  him  against  the  fig- 
ment of  baptismal  regeneration  ;  and  then,  proceeding  to  apply 
the  word,  he  urged  him,  though  in  the  eleventh  hour,  to  receive 
the  Bible,  the  whole  Bible,  and  nothing  but  the  Bible.  The  Pope 
listened  with  marked  attention,  and  displayed  considerable  emo- 
tion. When  it  was  ended,  he  answered  Mr.  O'Niggins,  that  it 
was  his  fervent  hope  that  they  two  would  not  die  without  finding 
8* 


90  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

themselves  in  one  communion,  or  something  of  the  sort.  He  de- 
clared moreover,  what  was  astonishing,  that  he  put  his  sole  trust 
in  Christ,  '  the  source  of  all  merit,'  as  he  expressed  it  —  a  re- 
markable phrase."  "In  what  language  was  the  conversation 
carried  on  ?  "  asked  Reding.  "  It  is  not  stated,"  answered  No. 
2  ;  "  but  I  am  pretty  sure  Mr.  O'Niggins  is  a  good  French 
scholar."  "  It  does  not  seem  to  me "  said  Charles,  "  that  the 
Pope's  admissions  are  greater  than  those  made  continually  by 
certain  members  of  our  own  Church,  who  are  nevertheless  ac- 
cused of  Popery."  "  But  they  are  extorted  from  such  persons,'* 
said  Freeborn,  "  while  the  Pope's  were  voluntary."  "  The  one 
party  go  back  into  darkness,"  said  No.  3  ;  "  the  Pope  was  com- 
ing forward  into  light."  "  One  ought  to  interpret  every  thing 
for  the  best  in  a  real  Papist,"  said  Freeborn,  "  and  every  thing 
for  the  worst  in  a  Puseyite.  That  is  both  charity  and  common 
sense."  " This  was  not  all,"  continued  No.  2  ;  "he  called  to- 
gether the  Cardinals,  protested  that  he  earnestly  desired  God's 
glory,  said  that  inward  religion  was  all  in  all,  and  forms  nothing 
without  a  contrite  heart,  and  that  he  trusted  soon  to  be  in  Para- 
dise, —  which,  you  know,  was  a  denial  of  the  doctrine  of  Pur- 
gatory." "  A  brand  from  the  burning,  I  do  hope,"  said  No.  3. 
"  It  has  frequently  been  observed,"  said  No.  4,  "  nay  it  has  struck 
me  myself,  that  the  way  to  convert  Romanists  is  iirst  to  convert 
the  Pope."  "  It  is  a  sure  way,  at  least,"  said  Charles  timidly, 
afraid  he  was  saying  too  much  ;  but  his  irony  was  not  discovered. 
"  Man  cannot  do  it,"  said  Freeborn ;  "  it's  the  power  of  faith. 
Faith  can  be  vouchsafed  even  to  the  greatest  sinners.  You  see 
now,  perhaps,"  he  said  turning  to  Charles,  "  better  than  you  did, 
what  I  meant  by  faith  the  other  day.  This  poor  old  man  could 
have  no  merit;  he  had  passed  a  long  life  in  opposing  the  Cross. 
Do  yorur  difficulties  continue  ?  " 

Charles  had  thought  over  their  former  conversation  very  care- 
fully several  times,  and  he  answered,  "  Why,  I  don't  think  they 
do  to  the  same  extent."  Freeborn  looked  pleased.  "  I  mean," 
he  said,  "  that  the  idea  hangs  together  better  than  I  thought  it 
did  at  first."  Freeborn  looked  puzzled.  Charles,  slightly  color- 
ing, was  obliged  to  proceed,  amid  the  profound  silence  of  the 
whole  party.  "  You  said,  you  know,  that  justifying  faith  was 
without  love  or  any  other  grace  besides  itself,  and  that  no  one 
could  at  all  tell  what  it  was,  except  afterwards,  from  its  fruits ; 
that  there  was  no  test  by  which  a  person  could  examine  himself, 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  $1 

whether  or  not  he  was  deceiving  himself  when  he  thought  he 
had  faith,  so  that  good  and  bad  might  equally  be  taking  to  them- 
selves the  promises  and  the  privileges  peculiar  to  the  gospel.  I 
thought  this  a  hard  doctrine  certainly  at  first ;  but  then  after- 
wards it  struck  me,  that  faith  is  perhaps  a  result  of  a  previous 
state  of  mind,  a  blessed  result  of  a  blessed  state,  and  therefore 
may  be  considered  the  reward  of  previous  obedience  ;  and  sham 
faith,  or  what  merely  looks  like  faith,  a  judicial  punishment."  In 
proportion  as  the  drift  of  the  former  part  of  this  speech  was  un- 
certain, so  was  the  conclusion  very  distinct.  There  was  no  mis- 
take, and  an  audible  emotion.  "  There  is  no  such  thing  as  pre- 
vious merit,"  said  No.  1  ;  "  all  is  of  grace."  "  Not  merit,  I 
know,"  said  Charles,  "  but "  —  "  We  must  not  bring  in  the  doc- 
trine of  de  condigno  or  de  cojigruo,"  said  No.  2.  "But  surely," 
said  Charles,  "  it  is  a  cruel  thing  to  say  to  the  unlearned  and  the 
multitude,  '  Believe,  and  you  are  at  once  saved  ;  do  not  wait  for 
fruits,  rejoice  at  once,'  and  neither  to  accompany  this  announce- 
ment by  any  clear  description  of  what  faith  is,  nor  to  secure 
them  by  previous  religious  training  against  self-deception  ? " 
"  That  is  the  very  gloriousness  of  the  doctrine,"  said  Freeborn, 
"  that  it  is  preached  to  the  worst  of  mankind.  It  says,  '  Come 
as  you  are ;  don't  attempt  to  make  yourselves  better.  Believe 
that  salvation  is  yours,  and  it  is  yours  ;  good  works  follow  after.'  " 
"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Charles,  continuing  his  argument,  "  when 
it  is  said  that  justification  follows  upon  baptism,  we  have  an  in- 
telligible something  pointed  out,  which  every  one  can  ascertain. 
Baptism  is  an  external  unequivocal  token  ;  whereas  that  a  man 
has  this  secret  feeling  called  faith,  no  one  but  himself  can  be  a 
witness,  and  he  is  not  an  unbiased  one." 

Reding  had  at  length  succeeded  in  throwing  that  dull  tea  table 
into  a  state  of  great  excitement.  "  My  dear  friend,"  said  Free- 
born, "  I  had  hoped  better  things  ;  in  a  little  while,  I  hope,  you 
will  see  things  differently.  Baptism  is  an  outward  rite  ;  what  is 
there,  can  there  be,  spiritual,  holy,  or  heavenly  in  baptism  ?  "  "  But 
you  tell  me  faith  too  is  not  spiritual,"  said  Charles.  "  1  tell  you  !  " 
cried  Freeborn,  "  when  ?  "  "  Well,"  said  Charles,  somewhat  puz- 
zled, "  at  least  you  do  not  think  it  holy."  Freeborn  was  puzzled 
in  his  turn.  "  If  it  is  holy,"  continued  Charles,  "  it  has  something 
good  in  it ;  it  has  some  worth ;  it  is  not  filthy  rags..  All  the 
good  comes  afterwards,  you  said.  You  said  that  its  fruits  were 
holy,  but  that  it  was  nothing  at  all  itself."     There  was  a  mo- 


92  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

raentary  silence,  and  some  agitation  of  thought.  "0,  faith  is 
certainly  a  holy  feeling,"  said  No.  1.  "No,  it  is  spiritual,  but 
not  holy,"  said  No.  2 ;"  it  is  a  mere  act,  the  apprehension  of 
Ubrist's  merits."  "  It  is  seated  in  the  affections,"  said  No.  3  ; 
"  faith  is  a  feeling  of  the  heart ;  it  is  trust,  it  is  a  belief  that 
Christ  is  my  Savior ;  all  this  is  distinct  from  holiness.  Holiness 
introduces  self-righteousness.  Faith  is  peace  and  joy,  but  it  is 
not  holiness.  Holiness  comes  after."  "  Nothing  can  cause  holi- 
ness but  what  is  holy ;  this  is  a  sort  of  axiom,"  said  Charles  ; 
"  if  the  fruits  are  holy,  faith,  which  is  the  root,  is  holy."  "  You 
might  as  well  say  that  the  root  of  a  rose  is  red,  and  of  a  lily, 
white,"  said  No.  3.  "  Pardon  me,"  said  Freeborn,  "  it  is,  as  my 
friend  says,  an  apprehension.  An  apprehension  is  a  seizing ; 
there  is  no  more  holiness  in  justifying  faith,  than  in  the  hand's 
seizing  a  substance  which  comes  in  its  way.  This  is  Luther's 
great  doctrine  in  his  '  Commentary  '  on  the  Galatians.  It  is 
nothing  in  itself  —  it  is  a  mere  instrument;  this  is  what  he 
teaches,  when  he  so  vehemently  resists  the  notion  of  justifying 
faith  being  accompanied  by  love." 

" I  cannot  assent  to  that  doctrine,"  said  No.  1  ;  "it  may  be 
true  in  a  certain  sense,  but  it  throws  stumbling  blocks  in  the  way 
of*  seekers.  Luther  could  not  have  meant  what  you  say,  I  am 
convinced.  Justifying  faith  is  always  accompanied  by  love." 
"  That  is  what  I  thought,"  said  Charles.  "  That  is  the  Romish 
doctrine  all  over,"  said  No.  2 ;  "it  is  the  doctrine  of  Bull  and 
Taylor."  "  As  Luther  calls  it  '  venenum  infernale^  "  said  Free- 
born. "  It  is  just  what  the  Puseyites  preach  at  present,"  said 
No.  3.  "On  the  contrary,"  said  No.  1,  "it  is  the  doctrine  of 
Melanchthon.  Look  here,"  he  continued,  taking  his  pocket  book 
out  of  his  pocket,  "  I  have  got  his  words  down,  as  Shuffleton 
quoted  them  in  the  Divinity  school  the  other  day.  '  Fides  sig- 
nijicat  Jiduciam ;  injiducid  inest  diiectio  ;  ergo  etiam  dilectione 
sumus  justiJ  "  Three  of  the  party  cried  "  Impossible ; "  the  paper 
was  handed  round  in  solemn  silence.  "  Calvin  said  the  same," 
said  No.  1  triumphantly. 

"  I  think,"  said  No.  4,  in  a  slow,  smooth,  sustained  voice,  which 
contrasted  with  the  animation  which  had  suddenly  inspired  the 
conversation,  "  that  the  con-tro-ver-sy,  ahem,  may  be  easily  ar- 
ranged. It  is  a  question  of  words  between  Luther  and  Melanch- 
thon. Luther  says,  ahem, '  faith  is  without  love,'  meaning, '  faith 
without  love  justifies.'     Melanchthon,  on  the  other  hand,  says, 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  93 

ahem,  *  faith  is  with  love/  meaning,  *  faith  justifies  with  love.' 
Now  both  are  true  :  for,  ahem,  faith- with-out-loveyw5<z^es,  yet  faith 
justifies  not-without-love."  There  was  a  pause,  while  both  par- 
ties digested  this  explanation.  "  On  the  contrary,"  he  added,  "  it 
is  the  Romish  doctrine  that  faith-with-love  justifies."  Freeborn 
expressed  his  dissent;  he  thought  this  the  doctrine  of  Melanch- 
thon  which  Luther  condemned.  "  You  mean,"  said  Charles, 
"  that  justification  is  given  to  faith  with  love,  not  to  faith  and 
love."  "  You  have  expressed  my  meaning,"  said  No.  4.  "  And 
what  is  considered  the  difference  between  with  and  and  ?  "  asked 
Charles.  No.  4  replied  without  hesitation,  "  Faith  is  the  instru- 
ment, love  the  sine  qua  non."  Nos.  2  and  3  interposed  with  a 
protest ;  they  thought  it  legal  to  introduce  the  phrase  sine  qua 
non ;  it  was  introducing  conditions.  Justification  was  uncondi- 
tional. "  But  is  not  faith  a  condition  ?  "  asked  Charles.  "  Cer- 
tainly not,"  said  Freeborn ;  " '  condition  *  is  a  legal  word.  How 
can  salvation  be  free  and  full,  if  it  is  conditional  ?  "  "  There  are 
no  conditions,"  said  No.  3 ;  "  all  must  come  from  the  heart. 
We  believe  with  the  heart,  we  love  from  the  heart,  we  obey 
with  the  heart ;  not  because  we  are  obliged,  but  because  we  have 
a  new  nature."  "  Is  there  no  obligation  to  obey^.''  "  said  Charles, 
surprised.  "  No  obligation  to  the  regenerate,"  answered  No.  3  ; 
"  they  are  above  obligation ;  they  are  in  a  new  state."  "  But 
surely  Christians  are  under  a  law,"  said  Charles.  "  Certainly 
not,"  said  No.  2 ;  "  the  law  is  done  away  in  Christ."  "  Take 
care,"  said  No.  1  ;  "  that  borders  on  Antinomianism."  "  Not  at 
all,"  said  Freeborn ;  "  an  Antinomian  actually  holds  that  he  may 
break  the  law;  a  spiritual  believer  only  holds  that  he  is  not 
bound  to  keep  it." 

Now  they  got  into  a  fresh  discussion  among  themselves  ;  and 
as  it  seemed  as  interminable  as  it  was  uninteresting.  Reding  took 
an  opportunity  to  wish  his  host  a  good  night,  and  to  slip  away. 
He  never  had  much  leaning  towards  the  evangelical  doctrine ; 
and  Freeborn  and  his  friends,  who  knew  what  they  were  hold- 
ing much  better  than  the  run  of  their  party,  satisfied  him  that 
he  had  not  much  to  gain  by  inquiring  into  that  doctrine  further. 
So  they  will  vanish  in  consequence  from  our  pages. 


94:  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

When  Charles  got  to  his  room,  he  saw  a  letter  from  home 
lying  on  his  table ;  and,  to  his  alarm,  it  had  a  deep  black  edge. 
He  tore  it  open.  Alas,  it  announced  the  sudden  death  of  his 
dear  father.  He  had  been  ailing  some  weeks  with  the  gout,  which^ 
at  length  had  attacked  his  stomach,  and  carried  him  off  in  a  few 
hours. 

O  my  poor  dear  Charles,  I  sympathize  with  you  keenly  all 
that  long  night,  and  that  indescribable  waking  in  the  morning, 
and  that  dreary  day  of  travel  which  followed  it !  By  the  after- 
noon you  were  at  home.  O  piercing  change  !  it  was  but  six  or 
seven  weeks  before,  that  you  had  passed  the  same  objects  the 
reverse  way,  with  what  different  feelings,  and  O,  in  what  com- 
pany, as  you  made  for  the  railway  omnibus  !  It  was  a  grief 
not  to  be  put  into  words ;  and  to  meet  mother,  sisters,  and  the 
Dead  J     *     *     * 

The  funeral  is  over  by  some  days  ;  Charles  is  to  remain  at 
home  the  remainder  of  the  term,  and  does  not  return  to  Oxford 
till  towards  the^end  of  January.  The  signs  of  grief  have  been 
put  away  ;  the  house  looks  cheerful  as  before  ;  the  fire  as  bright, 
the  mirrors  as  soft,  the  furniture  as  orderly ;  the  pictures  are  the 
same,  and  the  ornaments  on  the  mantel  piece  stand  as  they  havo 
stood,  and  the  French  clock  tells  the  hour,  as  it  has  told  it,  for 
years  past.  The  inmates  of  the  parsonage  wear,  it  is  most  true, 
the  signs  of  a  heavy  bereavement ;  but  they  converse  as  usual,  and 
on  ordinary  subjects ;  they  pursue  the  same  employments,  they 
work,  they  read,  they  walk  in  the  garden,  they  dine.  There  is 
no  change  except  in  the  inward  consciousness  of  an  overwhelm- 
ing loss.  He  is  not  there,  not  merely  on  this  day  or  that,  for  so 
it  well  might  be ;  he  is  not  merely  away,  but,  as  they  know  well, 
he  is  gone  and  will  not  return.  That  he  is  absent  now,  is  but  a 
token  and  a  memorial  to  their  minds  that  .he  will  be  absent 
always.  But  especially  at  dinner  ;  Charles  had  to  take  a  place 
which  he  had  sometimes  filled,  but  then  as  the  deputy,  and  in  the 
presence,  of  him  whom  now  he  succeeded.  His  father,  being 
not  much  more  than  a  middle-aged  man,  had  been  accustomed  to 
carve  himself.  And  when,  at  the  meal  of  the  day,  Charles 
looked  up,  he  had  to  encounter  the  troubled  look  of  one,  who, 
from   her   place    at    table,  had   before   her   eyes   a  still   more 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  95 

vivid  memento  of  their  common  loss ;  —  aliquid  desideraverunt 
ocvli, 

Mr.  Reding  had  left  his  family  well  provided  for ;  and  this, 
though  a  real  alleviation  of  their  loss  in  the  event,  perhaps  aug- 
mented the  pain  of  it  at  the  moment.  He  had  ever  been  a  kind, 
indulgent  father.  He  was  a  most  respectable  clergyman  of  the 
old  school ;  pious  in  his  sentiments,  a  gentleman  in  his  feelings, 
exemplary  in  his  social  relations.  He  was  no  reader,  and  never 
had  been*in  the  way  to  gain  theological  knowledge  ;  he  sincerely 
believed  all  that  was  in  the  Prayer  book,  but  his  sermons  were 
very  rarely  doctrinal.  They  were  sensible,  manly  discourses  on 
the  moral  duties.  He  administered  holy  communion  at  the  three 
great  festivals,  saw  his  Bishop  once  or  twice  a  year,  was  on  good 
terms  with  the  country  gentlemen  in  his  neighborhood,  was 
charitable  to  the  poor,  hospitable  in  his  housekeeping,  and  wa3 
a  stanch  though  not  a  violent  supporter  of  the  Tory  interest  in 
his  county.  He  was  incapable  of  any  thing  harsh,  or  petty,  or 
low,  or  uncourteous ;  and  died  esteemed  by  the  great  houses 
about  him,  and  lamented  byhis  parishioners. 

It  was  the  first  great  grief  poor  Charles  had  ever  had,  and  he 
felt  it  to  be  real.  How  did  the  small  anxieties  which  had  of 
late  teased  him,  vanish  before  this  tangible  calamity  !  He  then 
understood  the  difference  between  what  was  real  and  what  was 
not.  All  the  doubts,  inquiries,  surmises,  views,  which  had  of 
late  haunted  him  on  theological  subjects,  seemed  like  so  many 
shams,  which  flitted  before  him  in  sunbright  hours,  but  had  no 
root  in  his  inward  nature,  and  fell  from  him,  like  the  helpless 
December  leaves,  in  the  hour  of  his  aflliction.  He  felt  now 
where  his  heart  and  his  life  lay.  His  birth,  his  parentage,  his 
education,  his  home,  were  great  realities  ;  to  these  his  being  was 
united  ;  out  of  these  he  grew.  He  felt  he  must  be  what  Provi- 
dence had  made  him.  What  is  called  the  pursuit  of  truth, 
seemed  an  idle  dream.  He  had  great  tangible  duties,  to  his 
father's  memory,  to  his  mother  and  sisters,  to  his  position; 
he  felt  sick  of  all  theories,  as  if  they  had  taken  him  in ;  and  he 
secretly  resolved  nevermore  to  have  any  thing  to  do  with  them. 
Let  the  world  go  on  as  it  might,  happen  what  would  to  others, 
his  own  place  and  his  own  path  were  clear.  He  would  go  back  to 
Oxford,  attend  steadily  to  his  books,  put  aside  all  distractions, 
avoid  by-paths,  and  do  his  best  to  acquit  himself  well  in  the 
schools.     The  Church  of  England  as  it  was,  its  Articles,  Bishops, 


96  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

preachers,  professors,  had  sufficed  for  much  better  persons  than 
he  was ;  they  were  good  enough  for  him.  He  could  not  do 
better  than  imitate  the  life  and  death  of  his  beloved  father;  a 
quiet  time  in  the  country,  at  a  distance  from  all  excitements,  a 
round  of  pious,  useful  work  among  the  poor,  the  care  of  a  vil- 
lage school,  and  at  length  the  death  of  the  righteous. 

At  the  moment,  and  for  some  time  to  come,  he  had  special 
duties  towards  his  mother ;  he  wished,  as  far  as  might  be,  to 
supply  to  her  the  place  of  him  she  had  lost.  She  had  great 
trials  before  her  still ;  if  it  ^as  a  grief  to  himself  to  leave 
Hartley,  what  would  it  be  to  her?  Not  many  months  would 
pass  over,  when  she  would  have  to  quit  a  place  ever  dear,  and 
now  sacred  to  her  thoughts  ;  there  was  in  store  for  her  the  an- 
guish of  dismantling  the  home  of  many  years,  and  the  toil  and 
whirl  of  packing ;  a  wearied  head  and  an  aching  heart  at  a  time 
when  she  would  have  most  need  of  self-possession  and  energy. 

Such  were  the  thoughts  which  came  upon  him  again  and  again 
in  those  sorrowful  weeks.  A  leaf  had  been  turned  over  in  his 
life  ;  he  could  not  be  what  he  had  been.  People  come  to  man's 
estate  at  very  different  ages.  Youngest  sons  in  a  family,  like 
monks  in  a  convent,  may  remain  children  till  they  have  reached 
middle  age ;  but  the  elder,  should  their  father  die  prematurely, 
are  suddenly  ripened  into  manhood,  when  they  are  almost  boys. 
Charles  had  left  Oxford  a  clever,  unformed  youth  ;  he  returned 
a  man. 


PART  II. 

CHAPTER    I. 

About  four  miles  from  Oxford,  a  thickly- wooded  village  lies 
on  the  side  of  a  steep  long  hill  or  chine,  looking  over  the  Berk- 
shire woods,  and  commanding  a  view  of  the  many-turreted  city 
itself.  Over  its  broad  summit  once  stretched  a  chestnut  forest ; 
and  now  it  is  covered  with  the  roots  of  trees,  or  furze,  or  soft 
turf.  The  red  sand  which  lies  underneath  contrasts  with  the 
green,  and  adds  to  its  brilliancy ;  it  drinks  too  the  rain  greedily, 
so  that  the  wide  common  is  nearly  always  fit  for  walking ;  and 
the  air,  unlike  the  heavy  atmosphere  of  the  University  beneath 
it,  is  fresh  and  bracing.  The  gorse  was  still  in  bloom  in  the 
latter  end  of  the  month  of  June,  when  Reding  and  Sheffield  took 
up  their  abode  in  a  small  cottage  at  the  upper  end  of  this  vil- 
lage, —  so  hid  with  trees  and  girt  in  with  meadows,  that  for  the 
stranger  it  was  hard  to  find,  —  there  to  pass  their  third  and  last 
Long  Vacation,  before  going  into  the  schools. 

A  year  and  a  half  had  passed  since  Charles's  great  affliction,  and 
the  time  had  not  been  unprofitably  spent  either  by  himself  or 
his  friend.  Both  had  read  very  regularly,  and  Sheffield  had 
gained  the  Latin  verse  into  the  bargain.  Charles  had  put  all 
religious  perplexities  aside ;  that  is,  he  knew  of  course  many 
more  persons  of  all  parties  than  he  did  before,  and  became  better 
acquainted  with  their  tenets  and  their  characters  ;  but  he  did  not 
dwell  upon  any  thing  which  he  met  with,  nor  attempt  to  deter- 
mine the  merits  or  solve  the  difficulties  of  this  or  that  question. 
He  took  things  as  they  came  ;  and,  while  he  gave  his  mind  to 
his  books,  he  thankfully  availed  himself  of  the  religious  privi- 
leges which  the  College  system  afforded  him.  Nearly  a  year  still 
remained  before  his  examination ;  and,  as  Mrs.  Reding  had  not 
yet  fully  arranged  her  plans,  but  was  still  with  her  daughters, 
passing  from  friend  to  friend,  he  had  listened  to  Sheffield's  pro- 
posal to  take  a  tutor  for  the  Vacation,  and  to  find  a  site  for  their 
gtudies  in  the  neighborhood  of  Oxford.  There  was  every 
prospect  of  their  both  obtaining  the  highest  honors  which  the 
9  (97) 


98  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

schools  award :  they  both  were  good  scholars  and  clever  men  : 
they  had  read  regularly,  and  had  had  the  advantage  of  good 
lectures. 

The  side  of  the  hill  forms  a  large  sweeping  hollow  or  theatre 
just  on  one  side  of  the  village  of  Horsley.  The  two  extreme 
points  may  be  half  a  mile  across  ;  but  the  distance  is  increased 
to  one  who  follows  the  path  which  winds  through  the  furze  and 
fern  along  the  ridge.  Their  tutor  had  been  unable  to  find  lodg- 
ings in  the  village ;  and,  while  the  two  young  men  lived  on  one 
extremity  of  the  sweep  we  have  been  describing,  Mr.  Carlton, 
who  was  not  above  three  years  older  than  they,  had  planted 
himself  at  a  farm  house  upon  the  other.  Besides,  the  farm  house 
suited  him  better,  as  being  nearer  to  a  hamlet  which  he  waa 
serving  during  the  Vacation. 

"  I  don't  think  you  like  Carlton  as  well  as  I  do,"  said  Reding 
to  Sheffield,  as  they  lay  on  the  greensward  with  some  lighter 
classic  in  their  hands,  waiting  for  dinner,  and  watching  their 
friend  as  he  approached  them  from  his  lodging.  "  He  is  to 
me  so  taking  a  man  ;  so  equable,  so  gentle,  so  considerate  —  he 
brings  people  together,  and  fills  them  with  confidence  in  him- 
self, and  friendly  feeling  towards  each  other,  more  than  any 
person  I  know."  "  You  are  wrong,"  said  Sheffield,  "  if  you 
think  I  don't  value  him  extremely,  and  love  him  too ;  it's  im- 
possible not  to  love  him.  But  he's  not  the  person  quite  to  get 
influence  over  me."  "  He's  too  much  of  an  Anglican  for  you," 
said  Reding.  "Not  at  all,"  said  Sheffield,  "except  indirectly. 
My  quarrel  with  him  is,  that  he  has  many  original  thoughts, 
and  holds  many  profound  truths  in  detail,  but  is  quite  unable  to 
see  how  they  lie  to  each  other,  and  equally  unable  to  draw  con- 
sequences. He  never  sees  a  truth  until  he  touches  it ;  he  is 
ever  groping  and  feeling,  and,  as  in  hide-and-seek,  continually 
burns  without  discovering.  I  know  there  are  ten  thousand  per- 
sons who  cannot  see  an  inch  before  their  nose,  and  who  can 
comfortably  digest  contradictions :  but  Carlton  is  a  really  clever 
man ;  he  is  no  common  thinker  ;  this  makes  it  so  provoking. 
"When  I  write  an  essay  for  him,  —  I  know  I  write  obscurely, 
and  often  do  not  bring  out  the  sequence  of  my  ideas  in  due 
order,  —  but,  so  it  is,  he  is  sure  to  cut  out  the  very  thought  or 
statement  on  which  I  especially  pride  myself,  on  which  the 
whole  argument  rests,  which  binds  every  part  together ;  and  he 
coolly  tells  me  that  it  is  extravagant  or  farfetched  —  not  seeing 


LOSS    AND    GAIIT,  99 

that  by  leaving  it  ont  he  has  Made  nonsense  of  the  rest.  He  is 
a  man  to  rob  an  arch  of  its  keystone,  and  then  quietly  to  build 
his  house  upon  it."  "  Ah,  your  old  failing  again,"  said  Reding  ; 
"  a  craving  after  views.  Now,  what  I  like  in  Carlton,  is  that 
repose  of  his  ;  —  always  saying  enough,  never  too  much  ;  never 
boring  you,  never  taxing  you ;  always  practical,  never  in  the 
clouds.  Save  me  from  a  viewy  man  ;  I  could  not  live  with  hina 
for  a  week,  present  company  always  excepted."  "  Now,  consid- 
ering how  hard  I  have  read,  and  how  little  I  have  talked  this 
year  past,  this  is  hard  on  me,"  said  Sheffield.  "  Did  not  I  go  to 
be  one  of  old  Thruston's  sixteen  pupils,  last  Long  ?  He  gave 
us  capital  feeds,  smoked  with  us,  and  coached  us  in  Ethics  and 
the  Agamemnon.  He  knows  his  books  by  heart,  can  repeat  his 
plays  backwards,  and  weighs  out  his  Aristotle  by  grains  and 
pennyweights  ;  but,  for  generalizations,  ideas,  poetry,  O,  it  was 
desolation  —  it  was  a  darkness  which  could  be  felt."  "  And 
you  staid  there  just  six  weeks  out  of  four  months,  Sheffield/* 
answered  Reding. 

Carlton  had  now  joined  them,  and,  after  introductory  greet- 
ings on  both  sides,  he  too  threw  himself  upon  the  turf.  Shef- 
field said :  "  Reding  and  I  were  disputing  just  now  whether 
Nicias  was  a  party  man."  "  Of  course  you  first  defined  your 
terms,"  said  Carlton.  "  Well,"  said  Sheffield,  "  I  mean  by  a 
party  man,  one  who  not  only  belongs  to  a  party,  but  who  has 
the  animus  of  party.  Nicias  did  not  make  a  party,  he  found 
one  made.  He  found  himself  at  the  head  of  it ;  he  was  no 
more  a  party  man  than  a  prince  who  was  born  the  head  of  his 
state."  "  I  should  agree  with  you,"  said  Carlton ;  "  but  still  I 
should  like  to  know  what  a  party  is,  and  what  a  party  man." 
"  A  party,"  said  Sheffield,  "  is  merely  an  extra  constitutional  or 
extra  legal  body."  "  Party  action,"  said  Charles,  "  is  the  f>^ 
ertion  of  influence  instead  of  law."  "  But  supposing,  ivedmg, 
there  is  no  law  existing  in  the  quarter  where  influence  exerts 
itself?  "  asked  Carlton.  Charles  had  to  explain ;  "  Certainly," 
he  said,  "  the  state  did  not  legislate  for  all  possible  contingen- 
cies." "  For  instance,"  continued  Carlton,  "  a  prime  minister, 
I  have  understood,  is  not  acknowledged  in  the  constitution  ;  he 
exerts  influence  beyond  the  law,  but  not,  in  consequence,  against 
any  existing  law ;  and  it  would  be  absurd  to  talk  of  him  as  a 
party  man."  "  Parliamentary  parties,  too,  are  recognized  among 
us,"  said  Sheffield,  "  though  extra  constitutional.     We  call  them 


100  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

parties ;  but  who  would  call  th«  Duke  of  Devonshire  or  Lord 
John  Russell,  in  a  bad  sense,  a  party  man  ?  "  "  It  seems  to 
me,"  said  Carlton,  "  that  the  formation  of  a  party  is  merely  a 
recurrence  to  the  orginal  mode  of  forming  into  society.  You 
recollect  Deioces ;  he  formed  a  party.  He  gained  influence ; 
he  laid  the  foundation  of  social  order."  "  Law  certainly  begins 
in  influence,"  said  Reding,  "for  it  presupposes  a  lawgiver; 
afterwards  it  supersedes  influence;  from  that  time  the  exertion 
of  influence  is  a  sign  of  party."  "  Too  broadly  said,  as  you 
yourself  just  now  allowed,"  said  Carlton  :  "you  should  say  that 
law  begins  to  supersede  influence,  and  that  in  proportion  as  it 
supersedes  it,  does  the  exertion  of  influence  involve  party  action. 
For  instance,  has  not  the  crown  an  immense  personal  influ- 
ence ?  we  talk  of  the  Court  party ;  yet  it  does  not  interfere 
with  law,  it  is  intended  to  conciliate  the  people  to  the  law." 
*'  But  it  is  recognized  by  law  and  constitution,"  said  Charles, 
*'  as  was  the  Dictatorship."  "  Well,  then,  take  the  influence  of 
the  clergy,"  answered  Carlton ;  "  we  make  much  of  that  influ- 
ence as  a  principle  supplemental  to  the  law,  and  a  support  to 
the  law,  yet  not  created  or  defined  by  the  law.  The  law  does 
not  recognize  what  some  one  calls  truly  a  'resident  gentleman' 
in  every  parish.  Influence,  then,  instead  of  law  is  not  necessari- 
ly the  action  of  party."  "  So  again,  national  character  is;  an  in- 
fluence distinct  from  the  law,"  said  vSheffield,  "  according  to  the 
line,  — '  Quid  leges  sine  moribus  ? ' "  "  Law,"  said  Carlton,  "  is 
but  gradually  formed  and  extended.  Well,  then,  so  far  as 
there  is  no  law,  there  is  the  reign  of  influence ;  there  is  party 
without  of  necessity  party  action.  This  is  the  justification  of 
Whigs  and  Tories  at  the  present  day ;  to  supply,  as  Aristotle 
says  on  another  subject,  the  defects  of  the  law.  Charles  the 
First  exerted  a  regal,  Walpole  a  ministerial  influence  ;  but  in- 
fluence, not  law,  was  the  operating  principle  in  both  caSes.  The 
object  or  the  means  might  be  wrong,  but  the  process  could  not 
be  called  paity  action."  "  You  would  justify,  then,"  said  Charles, 
"  the  associations  or  confraternities  which  existed,  for  instance, 
in  Athens ;  not,  that  is,  if  they  '  took  the  law  into  their  own 
hands,'  as  the  phi'ase  goes,  but  if  there  was  no  law  to  take,  or  if 
there  was  no  constituted  authority  to  take  it.  It  was  a  recur- 
rence to  the  precedent  of  Deioces."  "  Manzoni  gives  a  strik- 
ing instance  of  this,  ia  the  beginning  of  his  Promessi  Sposi" 
said  Sheffield,  "  when   .he   speaks   of  the  protection  which  law 


I.O^S   AND    GAm.  101 

ought  to  give  to  the  weak,  being  in  the  sixteenth  centary  sought 
and  found  almost  exclusively  in  factions  or  companies.  I  don't 
recollect  particulars,  but  he  describes  the  clergy  as  busy  in  ex- 
tending their  immunities,  the  nobility  their  privileges,  the  army 
their  exemptions,  the  trades  and  artisans  their  guilds.  Even  the 
lawyers  formed  a  union,  and  medical  men  a  corporation/' 

"  Thus  constitutions  are  gradually  moulded  and  perfected," 
said  Carlton,  "  by  extra  constitutional  bodies,  either  coming 
under  the  protection  of  law,  or  else  being  superseded  by  the 
laws  providing  for  their  objects.  In  the  middle  ages  the  Church 
was  a  vast  extra  constitutional  body.  The  German  and  Anglo- 
Norman  sovereigns  wished  to  bring  its  operation  under  the  law  ; 
modern  parUaments  have  superseded  its  operation  hy  law.  Then 
the  state  wished  to  gain  the  right  of  investitures  ;  now  the  state 
marries,  registers,  manages  the  poor,  exercises  ecclesiastical 
jurisdiction,  instead  of  the  Church.'*  "  This  will  make  ostracism 
parallel  to  the  Reformation  or  the  Revolution,"  said  Sheffield; 
"  there  is  a  battle  of  influence  against  influence,  and  one  gets  rid 
of  the  other ;  law  or  constitution  does  not  come  into  question, 
but  the  will  of  the  people  or  of  the  court  ejects,  whether  the 
too  gifted  individual,  or  the  monarch,  or  the  religion.  What 
was  not  under  the  law  could  not  be  dealt  with,  had  no  claim  to 
be  dealt  with,  by  the  law."  "  A  thought  has  sometimes  struck 
me,"  said  Charles,  "  which  falls  in  with  what  you  have  been 
saying.  In  the  last  half  century  there  has  been  a  gradiml  for- 
mation of  the  popular  party  in  the  State,  which  now  tends  to  be 
acknowledged  as  constitutional,  or  is  already  so  acknowledged. 
My  father  never  could  endure  newspapers  —  I  mean,  the  system 
of  newspapers ;  he  said  it  was  a  new  power  in  the  State.  I  am 
sure  I  am  not  defending,  what  he  was  thinking  of,  the  many  bad 
things,  the  wretched  principles,  the  arrogance  and  tyranny  of 
newspaper  writers,  but  I  am  trying  the  subject  by  the  test  of 
your  theory.  The  great  body  of  the  people  are  very  imperfect- 
ly represented  in  parhament ;  the  Commons  are  not  their  voice, 
but  the  voice  of  certain  great  interests.  Consequently  the  press 
comes  in,  to  do  that  which  the  constitution  does  not  do,  to  form 
the  people  into  a  vast  mutual  protection  association.  And  this 
is  done  by  the  same  right  that  Deioces  had  to  collect  people 
about  him ;  it  does  not  interfere  with  the  existing  territory  of  the 
law,  but  builds  where  the  constitution  has  not  made  provision. 
It  tends,  then,  ultimately  to  be  recognized  by  the  constitution." 
9* 


lOS  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

*'  There  is  another  remarkable  phenomenon  of  a  similar  kind 
ROW  in  process  of  development,"  said  Carlton,  "  and  that  is,  the 
influence  of  agitation.  I  really  am  not  politician  enough  to  talk 
of  it  as  good  or  bad  ;  one's  natural  instinct  is  against  it ;  but  it 
may  be  necessary.  However,  agitation  is  getting  to  be  recog- 
nized as  the  legitimate  instrument  by  which  the  masses  make 
their  desires  known,  and  secure  the  accomplishment  of  them. 
Just  as  a  bill  passes  in  Parliament,  after  certain  readings,  dis- 
cussions, speeches,  votings,  and  the  like ;  so  the  process  by 
which  an  act  of  the  popular  will  becomes  law,  is  a  long  agita- 
tion, issuing  in  petitions,  previous  to  and  current  with  the  Par- 
liamentary process.  The  first  instance  of  this  was  about  fifty 
or  sixty  years  ago,  when  *  *  *  Halloo  !  "  he  cried,  "  who 
is  this  cantering  up  to  us  ?  "  "I  declare  it  is  old  Vincent,"  said 
Sheffield.  "  He  is  come  to  dine,"  said  Charles;  "just  in  time." 
"  How  are  you,  Carlton  ?  "  cried  Vincent ;  "  how  d'ye  do,  Mr. 
Sheffield  ?  Mr.  Reding,  how  d'ye  do  ;  acting  up  to  your  name, 
I  suppose,  for  you  were  ever  a  reading  man.  For  myself,"  he 
continued,  "  I  am  just  now  an  eating  man,  and  am  come  to  dine 
with  you,  if  you  will  let  me.  Have  you  a  place  for  my  horse  ?  " 
There  was  a  farmer  near,  who  could  lend  a  stable ;  so  the  horse 
was  led  off  by  Charles  ;  and  the  rider,  without  any  delay  —  for 
the  hour  did  not  admit  it  —  entered  the  cottage  to  make  his 
brief  preparation  for  dinner. 


CHAPTER    II. 


In  a  few  minutes  all  met  together  at  table  in  the  small  parlor, 
which  was  room  of  all  work  in  the  cottage.  They  had  not  the 
whole  house,  limited  as  were  its  resources;  for  it  was  also  the 
habitation  of  a  gardener,  who  took  his  vegetables  to  the  Oxford 
market,  and  whose  wife,  what  is  called,  did  for  his  lodgers. 

Dinner  was  suited  to  the  apartment,  apartment  to  the  dinner. 
The  book  table  had  been  hastily  cleared  for  a  cloth,  not  over 
white,  and,  in  consequence,  the  sole  remaining  table,  which  acted 
as  sideboard,  displayed  a  relay  of  plates,  and  knives  and  forks, 
in  the  midst  of  octavos  and  duodecimos,  bound  and  unbound, 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  103 

piled  up  and  thrown  about  in  great  variety  of  shapes.  The 
other  ornaments  of  this  side  table  were  an  ink  glass,  some  quires 
of  large  paper,  a  straw  hat,  a  gold  watch,  a  clothes  brush,  some 
bottles' of  ginger  beer,  a  pair  of  gloves,  a  case  of  cigars,  a  neck 
handkerchief,  a  shoe  horn,  a  small  slate,  a  large  claspknife,  a 
hammer,  and  a  handsome  inlaid  writing  desk. 

"  I  like  these  rides  into  the  country,"  said  Vincent,  as  they 
began  eating ;  "  the  country  loses  its  effect  on  me  when  I  live 
in  it,  as  you  do ;  but  it  is  exquisite  as  a  zest.  Visit  it,  do  not 
live  in  it,  if  you  would  enjoy  it.  Country  air  is  a  stimulus ; 
stimulants,  Mr.  Reding,  should  not  be  taken  too  often.  You 
are  of  the  country  party.  I  am  of  no  party.  I  go  here  and 
there,  like  the  bee ;  I  taste  of  every  thing,  I  depend  on  noth- 
ing." Sheffield  said,  that  this  was  rather  belonging  to  all 
parties,  than  to  none.  "  That  is  impossible,"  answered  Vin- 
cent ;  "  I  hold  it  to  be  altogether  impossible.  You  can't  belong 
to  two  parties  ;  there's  no  fear  of  it ;  you  might  as  well  attempt 
to  be  in  two  places  at  once.  To  be  connected  with  both  is  to 
be  united  with  neither.  Depend  on  it,  my  young  friend,  an- 
tagonist principles  correct  each  other.  It's  a  piece  of  philoso- 
phy which  one  day  you  will  thank  me  for,  when  you  are  older.'* 
"I  have  heard  of  an  American  illustration  of  this,"  said  Shef 
field,  "  which  certainly  confirms  what  you  say,  sir.  Professors 
in  the  United  States  are  sometimes  of  two  or  three  religions  at 
once,  according  as  we  regard  them  historically,  personally,  or 
officially.  In  this  way,  perhaps,  they  hit  the  mean."  Vincent, 
though  he  so  often  excited  a  smile  in  others,  had  no  humor  him- 
self; and  never  could  make  out  the  difference  between  irony 
and  earnest.  Accordingly  he  was  brought  to  a  stand.  Charles 
came  to  his  relief.  "  Before  dinner,"  he  said,  "  we  were  sport- 
ing what  you  will  consider  a  great  paradox,  I  am  afraid ;  that 
parties  were  good  things,  or  rather  necessary  things."  "  You 
don't  do  me  justice,"  answered  Vincent,  "  if  this  is  what  you 
think  I  mean.  I  halve  your  words  ;  parties  are  not  good,  but 
necessary  ;  Hke  snails,  I  don't  envy  them  their  small  houses,  or ' 
try  to  lodge  in  them."  "  You  mean,"  said  Carlton,  "  that  parties 
do  our  dirty  work ;  they  are  our  beasts  of  burden  ;  we  could  not 
get  on  without  them,  but  we  need  not  identify  ourselves  with 
them  ;  we  may  keep  aloof."  "  That,"  said  Sheffield,  "  is  some- 
thing like  those  religious  professors  who  say  that  it  is  sinful  to 
engage  in  worldly  though  necessary  occupations ;  but   that  the 


104  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

reprobate  undertake  them,  and  work  for  the  elect."  "  There  will 
always  be  persona  enough  in  the  world  who  like  to  be  party 
men,  without  being  told  to  be  so,"  said  Vincent ;  "  it's  our  busi- 
ness to  turn  them  to  account,  to  use  them,  but  to  keep  aloof.  I 
take  it,  all  parties  are  partly  right,  only  they  go  too  far.  I  bor- 
row from  each,  I  cooperate  with  each,  as  far  as  each  is  right, 
and  no  farther.  Thus  I  get  good  from  all,  and  I  do  good  to 
all ;  for  I  countenance  each,  so  far  as  it  is  true." 

"  Mr.  Carlton  meant  more  than  that,  sir,"  said  Sheffield ;  "  he 
meant  that  the  existence  of  parties  was  not  only  necessary  and 
useful,  but  even  right."  "  Mr.  Carlton  is  not  the  man  to  make 
paradoxes,"  said  Vincent ;  "  I  suspect  he  would  not  defend  the 
extreme  opinions,  which,  alas,  exist  among  us  at  present,  and 
are  progressing  every  day."  "  I  was  speaking  of  political  par- 
ties," said  Carlton,  "  but  I  am  disposed  to  extend  what  I  said  to 
religious  also."  "  But,  my  good  Carlton,"  said  Vincent,  "  Scrip- 
ture speaks  against  religious  parties."  "  Certainly  I  don't  wish 
to  oppose  Scripture,"  said  Carlton,  "  and  I  speak  under  correc- 
tion of  Scripture  ;  but  I  say  this,  that  whenever  and  wherever 
a  Church  does  not  decide  religious  points,  so  far  does  it  leave 
the  decision  to  individuals ;  and,  since  you  can't  expect  all  peo- 
ple to  agree  together,  you  must  have  different  opinions ;  and  the 
expression  of  those  different  opinions,  by  the  various  persons 
who  hold  them,  is  what  is  called  a  party."  "  Mr.  Carlton  has 
been  great,  sir,  on  the  general  subject  before  dinner,"  said  Shef- 
field, "  and  now  he  draws  the  corollary,  that  whenever  there  are 
parties  in  a  Church,  a  Church  may  thank  itself  for  them.  They 
are  the  certain  effect  of  private  judgment ;  and  the  more  private 
judgment  you  have,  the  more  parties  you  wiU  have.  You  are 
reduced,  then,  to  this  alternative,  no  toleration  or  party ;  and 
you  must  recognize  party,  unless  you  refuse  toleration."  "  Shef- 
field words  it  more  strongly  than  I  should  do,"  said  Carlton ; 
"  but  really  I  mean  pretty  much  what  he  says.  Take  the  case 
of  the  Roman  Catholics ;  they  have  decided  many  points  of  the- 
'ology,  many  they  have  not  decided ;  and  wherever  there  is  no 
ecclesiastical  decision,  there  they  have  at  once  a  party;  and 
when  the  ecclesiastical  decision  at  length  appears,  then  the 
party  ceases.  Thus  you  have  the  Dominicans  and  Franciscans 
contending  about  the  Immaculate  Conception ;  they  went  on 
contending  because  authority  did  not  at  once  decide  the  ques- 
tion.    On  the  other  hand,  when  Jesuits  and  Jansenists  disputed 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  105 

on  the  question  of  grace,  the  Pope  gave  it  in  favor  of  the  Jesuits, 
and  the  controversy  at  once  came  to  an  end."  "  Surely,"  said 
Vincent,  "  my  good  and  worthy  friend,  the  Rev.  Charles  Carlton, 
Fellow  of  Leicester,  and  sometime  Ireland  Essayist,  is  not  pre- 
ferring the  Church  of  Rome  to  the  Church  of  England."  Carl- 
ton laughed ;  "  You  won't  suspect  me  of  that,  I  think,"  he  an- 
swered ;  "  no ;  all  I  say  is,  that  our  Church,  from  its  constitu- 
tion, admits,  approves  of  private  judgment;  and  that  private 
judgment,  so  far  forth  as  it  is  admitted,  necessarily  involves 
parties  ;  the  slender  private  judgment  allowed  in  the  Church  of 
Rome  admitting  occasional  or  local  parties,  and  the  ample  pri- 
vate judgment  allowed  in  our  Church  recognizing  parties  as  an 
element  of  the  Church."  "  Well,  well,  my  good  Carlton,"  said 
Vincent,  frowning  and  looking  wise,  yet  without  finding  any 
thing  particular  to  say.  "  You  mean,"  said  Sheffield,  "  if  I  un- 
derstand you,  that  it  is  a  piece  of  mawkish  hypocrisy  to  shake 
the  head  and  throw  up  the  eyes  at  Mr.  this  or  that  for  being  the 
head  of  a  religious  party,  while  we  return  thanks  for  our  pure 
and  reformed  Church ;  because  purity,  reformation,  apostolicity, 
toleration,  all  these  boasts  and  glories  of  the  Church  of  England, 
establish  party  action  and  party  spirit  as  a  cognate  blessing,  for 
which  we  should  be  thankful  also.  Party  is  one  of  our  greatest 
ornaments,  Mr.  Vincent."  "  A  sentiment  or  argument  does  not 
lose  in  your  hands,"  said  Carlton ;  "  but  what  I  meant  was  simply 
that  party  leaders  are  not  dishonorable  in  the  Church,  unless 
Lord  John  Russell  or  Sir  Robert  Peel  holds  a  dishonorable  post 
in  the  State."  "  My  young  friend,"  said  Vincent,  finishing  his 
mutton,  and  pushing  his  plate  from  him,  "  my  two  young  friends, 
—  for  Carlton  is  not  much  older  than  Mr.  Sheffield,  —  may  you 
learn  a  Uttle  more  judgment.  When  you  have  lived  to  my 
age"  (viz.  two  or  three  years  beyond  Carlton's),  "you  will  learn 
sobriety  in  all  things.  Mr.  Reding,  another  glass  of  wine.  See 
that  poor  child,  how  she  totters  under  the  gooseberry  pudding ; 
up,  Mr.  Sheffield,  and  help  her.  The  old  woman  cooks  better 
than  I  had  expected.  How  do  you  get  your  butcher's  meat 
here,  Carlton  ?  I  should  have  made  the  attempt  to  bring  you  a 
fine  jack  I  saw  in  our  kitchen,  but  I  thought  you  would  have  no 
means  of  cooking  it." 

Dinner  over,  the  party  rose,  and  strolled  out  on  the  green. 
Another  subject  commenced.  "Was  not  Mr.  Willis  of  St. 
George's  a   friend   of  yours,   Mr.    Reding?"   asked  Vincent. 


106  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

Charles  started  ;  "  I  knew  him  a  little  *  *  *  I  have  seen 
him  several  times."  "  You  know  he  left  us,"  continued  Vincent, 
"  and  joined  the  Church  of  Rome.  Well,  it  is  credibly  reported 
that  he  is  returning."  "A  melancholy  history,  any  how,"  an- 
swered Charles  ;  "  most  melancholy,  if  this  is  true."  "  Rather," 
said  Vincent,  setting  him  right,  as  if  he  had  simply  made  a  ver- 
bal mistake,  "  a  most  happy  termination,  you  mean  ;  the  only 
thing  that  was  left  for  him  to  do.  You  know  he  went  abroad. 
Any  one  who  is  inclined  to  Romanize  should  go  abroad  ;  Carl- 
ton, we  shall  be  sending  you  soon.  Here  things  are  softened 
down  ;  there  you  see  the  Church  of  Rome  as  it  really  is.  I 
have  been  abroad,  and  should  know  it.  Such  heaps  of  beggars 
in  the  streets  of  Rome  and  Naples ;  so  much  squalidness  and 
misery  ;  no  cleanliness  ;  an  utter  absence  of  comfort ;  and  such 
superstition ;  and  such  an  abuse  of  all  true  and  evangelical  seri- 
ousness. They  push  and  fight  while  Mass  is  going  on  ;  they 
jabber  their  prayers  at  railroad  speed  ;  they  worship  the  Virgin 
as  a  goddess  ;  and  they  see  miracles  at  the  corner  of  every  street. 
Their  images  are  awful,  and  their  ignorance  prodigious.  Well, 
Willis  saw  all  this  ;  and  I  have  it  on  good  authority,"  he  said  mys- 
teriously, "  that  he  is  thoroughly  disgusted  with  the  whole  affair, 
and  is  coming  back  to  us."  "  Is  he  in  England  now  ?  "  asked 
Charles.  "  He  is  said  to  be  with  his  mother  in  Devonshire,  who, 
perhaps  you  know,  is  a  widow  ;  and  he  has  been  too  much  for  her. 
Poor  silly  fellow,  who  would  not  take  the  advice  of  older  heads ! 
A  friend  once  sent  him  to  me ;  I  could  make  nothing  of  him.  I 
couldn't  understand  his  arguments,  nor  he  mine.  It  was  no 
good ;  he  would  make  trial  himself,  and  he  has  caught  it." 

There  was  a  short  pause  in  the  conversation ;  then  Vincent 
added,  "  But  such  perversions,  Carlton,  I  suppose,  thinks  to  be 
as  necessary  as  parties  in  a  pure  Protestant  Church."  "  I  can't 
say  you  satisfy  me,  Carlton,"  said  Charles  ;  "  and  I  am  happy  to 
have  the  sanction  of  Mr.  Vincent.  Did  political  party  make 
men  rebels,  then  would  political  party  be  indefensible  ;  so  is 
religious,  if  it  leads  to  apostasy."  "  You  know  the  Whigs  were 
accused  in  the  last  war,"  said  Sheffield,  "  of  siding  with  Bona- 
parte ;  accidents  of  this  kind  don't  affect  general  rules  or  stand- 
ing customs."  "  Well,  independent  of  this,"  answered  Charles, 
"  I  cannot  think  religious  parties  defensible  on  the  considerations 
which  justify  political.  There  is,  to  my  feelings,  something  des- 
picable in  heading  a  religious  party."     "  Was  Loyola  despica- 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  107 

ble,"  asked  Sheffield,  "or  St.  Dominic?"  « They  had  the 
sanction  of  their  superiors,"  said  Charles.  "  You  are  hard  on 
parties  surely,  Reding,"  said  Carlton  ;  "  a  man  may  individually 
write,  preach,  and  publish  what  he  believes  to  be  the  truth,  without 
offence ;  why,  then,  does  it  begin  to  be  wrong,  when  he  does  so 
together  with  others  ?  "  "  Party  tactics  are  a  degradation  of  the 
truth,"  said  Charles.  "  We  have  heard,  I  believe,  before  now," 
said  Carlton,  "  of  Athanasius  against  the  whole  world,  and  the 
whole  world  against  Athanasius."  "Well,"  answered  Charles, 
"  I  will  but  say  this,  that  a  party  man  must  be  very  much  above 
par  or  below  it."  "  There,  again,  I  don't  agree,"  said  Carlton ; 
*'  you  are  supposing  the  leader  of  a  party  to  be  conscious  of 
what  he  is  doing ;  and,  being  conscious,  he  may  be,  as  you  say, 
either  much  above  or  below  the  average  :  but  a  man  need  not 
realize  to  himself  that  he  is  forming  a  party."  "  That's  more 
difficult  to  conceive,"  said  Vincent,  "  than  any  statement  which 
has  been  hazarded  this  afternoon."  "  Not  at  all  difficult,"  an- 
swered Carlton  :  "  do  you  mean  that  there  is  only  one  way  of 
gaining  influence  ?  surely  there  is  such  a  thing  as  unconscious 
influence  ?  "  "  I'd  as  easily  believe,"  said  Vincent,  "  that  a  beau- 
ty does  not  know  her  charms."  "  That's  narrow  minded,"  re- 
torted Carlton:  "a  man  sits  in  his  room  and  writes,  and  does 
not  know  what  people  think  of  him."  "  I'd  believe  it  less,"  per- 
sisted Vincent ;  "  beauty  is  a  fact ;  influence  is  an  effect.  Effects 
imply  agents ;  agency,  will  and  consciousness."  "  There  are 
different  modes  of  influence,"  interposed  Sheffield ;  "  influence 
is  often  spontaneous  and  almost  necessary."  "  Like  the  light  on 
Moses'  face,"  said  Carlton.  "  Bonaparte  is  said  to  have  had  an 
irresistible  smile,"  said  Sheffield.  "  What  is  beauty  itself,  but  a 
spontaneous  influence  ?  "  added  Carlton ;  "  don't  you  recollect 
*  the  lovely  young  Lavinia,'  in  Thomson  ?  "  "  Well,  gentlemen," 
said  Vincent,  "  when  I  am  Chancellor,  I  will  give  a  prize  essay 
on  '  Moral  Influence,  its  kinds  and  causes,'  and  Mr  Sheffield  shall 
get  it ;  and  as  to  Carlton,  he  shall  be  my  Poetry  Professor,  when 
lam  Convocation." 

You  will  say,  good  reader,  that  the  party  took  a  very  short 
stroll  on  the  hill,  when  we  tell  you  that  they  were  now  stooping 
their  heads  at  the  lowly  door  of  the  cottage  :  but  the  terse 
"  litter  a  scripta,"  abridges  wondrously  the  rambling  "  vox  emissa  ;  " 
and  there  might  be  other  things  said  in  the  course  of  the  con- 
versation, which  history  has  not  condescended  to  record.     Any 


108  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

how,  we  are  obliged  now  to  usher  them  again  into  the  room 
where  they  had  dined,  and  where  they  found  tea  ready  laid,  and 
the  kettle  speedily  forthcoming.  The  bread  and  butter  were 
excellent ;  and  the  party  did  justice  to  them,  as  if  they  had  not 
lately  dined.  "  I  see  you  keep  your  tea  in  tin  cases,"  said  Vin- 
cent ;  "  I  am  for  glass.  Don't  spare  the  tea,  Mr.  Reding  ;  Ox- 
ford men  do  not  commonly  fail  on  that  head.  Lord  Bacon  says 
the  first  and  best  juice  of  the  grape,  like  the  primary,  purest, 
and  best  comment  on  Scripture,  is  not  pressed  and  forced  out, 
but  consists  of  a  natural  exudation.  This  is  the  case  in  Italy  at 
this  day ;  and  they  call  the  juice  '  lagrimaJ  So  it  is  with  tea, 
and  with  coffee  too.  Put  in  a  large  quantity,  pour  on  the  water, 
turn  off  the  liquor ;  turn  it  off  at  once  —  don't  let  it  stand ;  it 
becomes  poisonous.  I  am  a  great  patron  of  tea  ;  the  poet  truly 
says,  '  It  cheers,  but  not  inebriates.'  It  has  sometimes  a  singu- 
lar effect  upon  my  nerves  ;  it  makes  me  whistle  —  so  people  tell 
me  ;  I  am  not  conscious  of  it.  Sometimes,  too,  it  has  a  dyspep- 
tic effect.  I  find  it  does  not  do  to  take  it  too  hot ;  we  English 
drink  our  liquors  too  hot.  It  is  not  a  French  failing ;  no,  in- 
deed. In  France,  that  is  in  the  country,  you  get  nothing  for 
breakfast  but  acid  wine  and  grapes;  this  is  the  other  extreme, 
and  has  before  now  affected  me  awfully.  Yet  acids,  too,  have  a 
soothing,  sedative  effect  upon  one;  lemonade  especially.  But 
nothing  suits  me  so  well  as  tea.  Carlton,"  he  continued  mys- 
teriously, "  do  you  know  the  late  Dr.  Baillie's  preventive  of  the 
flatulency  which  tea  produces  ?  Mr.  Sheflleld,  do  you  ?  "  Both 
gave  up.  "  Camomile  flowers :  a  little  camomile,  not  a  great 
deal ;  some  people  chew  rhubarb,  but  a  little  camomile  in  the  tea 
is  not  perceptible.  Don't  make  faces,  Mr.  Sheffield ;  a  little,  I 
say ;  a  little  of  every  thing  is  best :  '  ne  quid  nimis.^  Avoid  all 
extremes.  So  it  is  with  sugar.  Mr.  Reding,  you  are  putting  too 
much  into  your  tea.  I  lay  down  this  rule  :  sugar  should  not  be 
a  substantive  ingredient  in  tea,  but  an  adjective ;  that  is,  tea  has 
a  natural  roughness ;  sugar  is  only  intended  to  remove  that 
roughness ;  it  has  a  negative  office ;  when  it  is  more  than  this, 
it  is  too  much.  Well,  Carlton,  it  is  time  for  me  to  be  seeing 
after  my  horse.  I  fear  he  has  not  had  so  pleasant  an  afternoon 
as  I.  I  have  enjoyed  myself  much  in  your  suburban  villa. 
What  a  beautiful  moon !  but  I  have  some  very  rough  ground 
to  pass  over.  I  daren't  canter  over  the  ruts  with  the  gravel  pits 
close  before  me.     Mr.  Sheffield,  do  me  the  favor  to  show  me  the 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  109 

way  to  the  stable.     Good  by  to  you,  Carlton ;  good  night,  Mr. 
Eeding." 

When  they  were  left  to  themselves,  Charles  asked  Carlton  if 
he  really  meant  to  acquit  of  party  spirit  the  present  party  lead- 
ers in  Oxford.  "  You  must  not  misunderstand  me,"  answered 
he  ;  "I  do  not  know  much  of  them,  but  I  know  they  are  persons 
of  great  merit  and  high  character,  and  I  wish  to  think  the  best 
of  them.  They  are  most  unfairly  attacked,  that  is  certain  ; 
however,  they  are  accused  of  wishing  to  make  a  display,  of 
aiming  at  influence  and  power,  of  loving  agitation,  and  so  on.  I 
cannot  deny  that  some  things  they  have  done  have  an  unpleasant 
appearance,  and  give  plausibility  to  the  charge.  I  wish  they 
had,  at  certain  times,  acted  otherwise.  Meanwhile,  I  do  think 
it  but  fair  to  keep  in  view  that  the  existence  of  parties  is  no 
fault  of  theirs.  They  are  but  claiming  their  birthright  as 
Protestants.  When  the  Church  does  not  speak,  others  will 
speak  instead ;  and  learned  men  have  the  best  right  to  speak. 
Again,  when  learned  men  speak,  others  will  attend  to  them: 
and  thus  the  formation  of  a  party  is  rather  the  act  of  those  who 
follow  than  of  those  who  lead." 


CHAPTER  III. 

Sheffield  had  some  friends  residing  at  Chalton,  a  neighbor- 
ing village,  with  a  scholar  of  St.  Michael's,  who  had  a  small  cure 
with  a  house  on  it.  One  of  them,  indeed,  was  known  to  Ke- 
ding  also,  being  no  other  than  our  friend  White,  who  was  going 
into  the  schools,  and  during  the  last  six  months  had  been  trying 
to  make  up  for  the  time  he  had  wasted  in  the  first  years  of  his 
residence.  Charles  had  lost  sight  of  him,  or  nearly  so,  since  he 
first  knew  him ;  and  at  their  time  of  life  so  considerable  an  in- 
terval could  not  elapse  without  changes  in  the  character  for  good 
or  evil,  or  for  both.  Carlton  and  Charles,  who  were  a  good  deal 
thrown  together  by  Sheffield's  frequent  engagements  with  the 
Chalton  party,  were  just  turning  homeward  in  their  walk  one 
evening,  when  they  fell  in  with  White,  who  had  been  calling 
at  Mr.  Bolton's  in  Oxford,  and  was  returning.  They  had 
10 


110  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

not  proceeded  very  far  before  they  were  joined  by  Sheffield  and 
Mr.  Barry,  the  curate  of  Chalton ;  and  thus  the  party  was 
swelled  to  five. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  lose  Upton  ? "  said  Barry  to  Reding ; 
"  a  capital  tutor ;  you  can  ill  spare  him.  Who  comes  into  his 
place  ?  "  "  We  don't  know,"  answered  Charles  ;  "  the  Principal 
will  call  up  one  of  the  Junior  Fellows  from  the  country,  I  be- 
lieve." "  O,  but  you  won't  get  a  man  like  Upton,"  said  Carlton : 
"  he  knew  his  subjects  so  thoroughly.  His  lecture  in  the  Agric- 
ola,  I've  heard  your  men  say,  it  might  have  been  published.  It 
was  a  masterly,  minute  running  comment  on  the  text,  quite  ex- 
hausting it."  "  Yes,  it  was  his  forte,"  said  Charles ;  "  yet  he 
never  loaded  his  lectures ;  every  thing  he  said  had  a  meaning, 
and  was  wanted."  "  He  has  got  a  capital  living,"  said  Barry ; 
"  a  substantial  modern  house,  and  by  the  rail  only  an  hour  from 
London."  "  And  £500  a  year,"  said  White  ;  "  Mr.  Bolton  went 
over  the  living,  and  told  me  so.  It's  in  my  future  neighborhood ; 
a  very  beautiful  country,  and  a  number  of  good  families  round 
about."  "  They  say  he's  going  to  marry  the  Dean  of  Selsey's 
daughter,"  said  Barry  ;  "  do  you  know  the  family  ?  Miss  Juliet, 
the  thirteenth,  a  very  pretty  girl."  "  Yes,"  said  White,  "  I  know 
them  all ;  a  most  delightful  family ;  Mrs.  Bland  is  a  charming 
woman,  so  very  ladylike.  It's  my  good  luck  to  be  under  the 
Dean's  jurisdiction;  I  think  I  shall  pull  with  him  capitally." 
"  He's  a  clever  man,"  said  Barry ;  "  his  charges  are  always  well 
written ;  he  had  a  high  name  in  his  day  at  Cambridge." 
"Hasn't  he  been  lately  writing  against  your  friends  here, 
White  ?  "  said  Sheffield.  "  My  friends  ! "  said  White  ;  "  whom 
can  you  mean  ?  He  has  written  against  parties  and  party  lead- 
ers ;  and  with  reason,  I  think.  O,  yes ;  he  alluded  to  poor 
Willis  and  some  others."  "It  was  more  than  that,"  insisted 
Sheffield ;  "  he  charged  against  certain  sayings  and  doings  at  St. 
Mary's."  "  Well,  I  for  one  cannot  approve  of  all  that  is  uttered 
from  the  pulpit  there,"  said  White ;  "  I  know  for  a  fact  that 
Willis  refers  with  great  satisfaction  to  what  he  heard  there,  as 
inclining  him  to  Romanism."  "I  wish  preachers  and  hearers 
would  all  go  over  together  at  once,  and  then  we  should  have 
some  quiet  time  for  proper  University  studies,"  said  Barry. 
"  Take  care  what  you  are  saying,  Barry,"  said  Sheffield ;  "  you 
mean  present  company  excepted.  You,  White,  I  think,  come 
under  the  denomination  of  hearers."     "  I !  "  said  White  ;   "  no 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  Ill 

Such  thing.  I  have  been  to  hear  him  before  now,  as  most  men 
have ;  but  I  think  him  often  very  injudicious,  or  worse.  The 
tendency  of  his  preaching  is  to  make  one  dissatisfied  with  one's 
own  Church."  "  Well,"  said  Sheffield,  "  one's  memory  plays  one 
tricks,  or  I  should  say  that  a  friend  of  mine  had  said  ten  times 
as  strong  tilings  against  our  Church  as  any  preacher  in  Oxford 
ever  did."  "  You  mean  me,"  said  White,  with  earnestness ; 
"  you  have  misunderstood  me  grievously.  I  have  ever  been 
most  faithful  to  the  Church  of  England.  You  never  heard  me 
say  any  thing  inconsistent  with  the  warmest  attachment  to  it.  I 
have  never,  indeed,  denied  the  claims  of  the  Romish  Church  to 
be  a  branch  of  the  Catholic  Church,  nor  will  I,  —  that's  another 
thing  quite  ;  there  are  many  things  which  we  might  borrow  with 
great  advantage  from  the  Romanists.  But  I  have  ever  loved, 
and  hope  I  shall  ever  venerate,  my  own  Mother,  the  Church  of 
my  baptism." 

Shelfield  made  an  odd  face,  and  no  one  spoke.  White  con- 
tinued, attempting  to  preserve  an  unconcerned  manner :  "  It  is 
remarkable  that  Mr.  Bolton,  who,  though  a  layman,  and  no 
divine,  is  a  sensible,  practical,  shrewd  man,  never  liked  that 
pulpit ;  he  always  prophesied  no  good  would  come  of  it."  The 
silence  continuing,  White  presently  fell  upon  Sheffield.  "  I  defy 
you,"  he  said,  with  an  attempt  to  be  jocular,  "  to  prove  what 
you  have  been  hinting  ;  it  is  a  great  shame.  It's  so  easy  to 
speak  against  men,  to  call  them  injudicious,  extravagant,  and  so 
on.  You  are  the  only  person  —  "  "  Well,  well,  I  know  it,  I 
know  it,"  said  Sheffield ;  "  we're  only  canonizing  you,  and  I  am 
the  devil's  advocate." 

Charles  wanted  to  hear  something  about  Willis ;  so  he  turned 
the  current  of  White's  thoughts,  by  coming  up  and  asking  him, 
whether  there  was  any  truth  in  the  report  he  had  heard  from 
Vincent  several  weeks  before ;  had  White  heard  from  him 
lately?  White  knew  very  Httle  about  him  definitely,  and  was 
not  able  to  say  whether  the  report  was  true  or  not.  So  far  was 
certain,  that  he  had  returned  from  abroad,  and  was  living  at 
home.  Thus  he  had  not  committed  himself  to  the  Church  of 
Rome  whether  as  a  theological  student  or  as  a  novice ;  but  he 
could  not  say  more.  Yes,  he  had  heard  one  thing  more ;  and 
the  subject  of  a  letter  which  he  had  received  from  him  corrobo- 
rated it  —  that  he  was  very  strong  on  the  point  that  Romanism 
and  AngHcanism  were  two  religions  ;  that  you  could  not  amal- 


112  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

gamate  them ;  that  you  must  be  Roman  or  Anglican,  but  could 
not  be  Anglo-Roman  or  Anglo- Catholic.  "  This  is  what  a  friend 
told  me.  In  his  letter  to  myself/'  White  continued,  "  I  don't 
know  quite  what  he  meant,  but  he  spoke  a  good  deal  of  the  ne- 
cessity of  faith  in  order  to  be  a  Catholic.  He  said  no  one  should 
go  over  merely  because  he  thought  he  should  like  it  better ;  that 
he  had  found  out  by  experience  that  no  one  could  live  on  sen- 
timent ;  that  the  whole  system  of  worship  in  the  Romish  Church 
was  diflferent  from  what  it  is  in  our  own  ;  nay,  the  very  idea  of 
worship,  the  idea  of  prayers ;  that  the  doctrine  of  intention  itself, 
viewed  in  all  its  parts,  constituted  a  new  religion.  He  did  not 
speak  of  himself  definitely,  but  he  said  generally  that  all  this 
might  be  a  great  discouragement  to  a  convert,  and  throw  him 
back.  On  the  whole,  the  tone  of  his  letter  was  like  a  person 
disappointed,  and  who  might  be  reclaimed ;  at  least,  so  I 
thought."  "  He  is  a  wiser,  even  if  he  is  a  sadder  man,"  said 
Charles  :  "  I  did  not  know  he  had  so  much  in  him.  There  is 
more  reflection  in  all  this  than  so  excitable  a  person,  as  he 
seemed  to  me,  is  capable  of  exercising.  At  the  same  time  there 
is  nothing  in  all  this  to  prove  that  he  is  sorry  for  what  he  has 
done."  "  I  have  granted  this,"  said  White ;  "  still  the  effect  of 
the  letter  was  to  keep  people  back  from  following  him,  by  putting 
obstacles  in  their  way ;  and  then  we  must  couple  this  with  the 
fact  of  his  going  home."  Charles  thought  a  while.  "  Vincent's 
testimony,"  he  said,  "  is  either  a  confirmation  or  a  mere  exag- 
geration of  what  you  have  told  me,  according  as  it  is  independ- 
ent or  not."  Then  he  said  to  himself,  "  White  too  has  more  in 
him  than  I  thought ;  he  really  has  spoken  about  Willis  very 
sensibly :  what  has  come  to  him  ?  " 

The  paths  soon  divided ;  and  while  the  Chalton  pair  took  the 
right  hand,  Carlton  and  his  pupils  turned  to  the  left.  Soon 
Carlton  parted  from  the  two  friends,  and  they  reached  their 
cottage  just  in  time  to  see  the  setting  sun. 


LOSS    A.ND    GAIN.  113 


CHAPTER    IV. 

A  FEW  days  after,  Carlton,  Sheffield,  and  Reding  were  talk- 
ing together  after  dinner  out  of  doors  about  White.  "  How  he 
is  altered,"  said  Charles,  "  since  I  first  knew  him  ! "  "  Altered !  '* 
cried  Sheffield ;  "  he  was  a  playful  kitten  once,  and  new  he  is 
one  of  the  dullest  old  tabbies  I  ever  came  across."  "  Altered 
for  the  better,"  said  Charles ;  "  he  has  now  a  steady  sensible 
way  of  talking ;  but  he  was  not  a  very  wise  person  two  years 
ago ;  he  is  reading,  too,  really  hard."  "  He  has  some  reason," 
said  Sheffield,  "  for  he  is  sadly  behindhand ;  but  there  is 
another  cause  of  his  steadiness,  which  perhaps  you  know." 
"  I !  no  indeed,"  answered  Charles.  "  I  thought  of  course  you 
knew  it,"  said  Sheffield ;  "  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  have  not 
heard  that  he  is  engaged  to  some  Oxford  girl  ?  "  "  Engaged  !  " 
cried  Charles,  " how  absurd ! "  "I  don't  see  that  at  all,  my 
dear  Reding,"  said  Carlton.  "  It's  not  as  if  he  could  not  affiard 
it ;  he  has  a  ^ood  living  waiting  for  him ;  and,  moreover,  he  is 
thus  losing  no  time,  which  is  a  great  thing  in  life.  Much  time 
is  often  lost.  White  will  soon  find  himself  settled  in  every 
sense  of  the  word,  in  mind,  in  life,  in  occupation." 

Charles  said  that  there  was  one  thing  which  could  not  help 
surprising  him,  namely,  that  when  White  first  came  up,  he  was 
so  strong  in  his  advocacy  of  clerical  celibacy.  Carlton  and 
4Bheffield  laughed.  "  And  do  you  think,"  said  the  former,  "  that 
a  youth  of  eighteen  can  have  an  opinion  on  such  a  subject,  or 
knows  himself  well  enough  to  make  a  resolution  in  his  own 
case  ?  Do  you  really  think  it  fair  to  hold  a  man  committed  to 
all  the  random  opinions  and  extravagant  sayings  into  which  he 
was  betrayed  when  he  first  left  school .''  "  "  He  had  read  some 
ultra  book  or  other,"  said  Sheffield,  "  or  seen  some  beautiful  nun 
sculptured  on  a  chancel  screen,  and  was  carried  awaj»  by  ro- 
mance —  as  others  have  been  and  are."  "  Don't  you  suppose," 
said  Carlton,  "  that  those  good  fellows,  who  now  are  so  full  of 
*  sacerdotal  purity,'  '  angelical  blessedness,'  and  so  on,  will  one 
and  all  be  married  by  this  time  ten  years  ?  "  "  I'll  take  a  bet  of 
it,"  said  Sheffield :  "  one  will  give  in  early,  one  late,  but  there 
is  a  time  destined  for  all.  Pass  some  ten  or  twelve  years,  as 
Carlton  says,  and  we  .shall  find  A.  B.  on  a  curacy  the  happy 
father  of  ten  children  ;  C.  D.  wearing  on  a  long  courtship  till 
10* 


114  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

a  living  falls  ;  E.  F.  in  his  honeymoon  ;  G.  H.  lately  presented 
by  Mrs.  H.  with  twins  ;  I.  K.  full  of  joy,  just  accepted;  L.  M. 
may  remain  what  Gibbon  calls  '  a  column  in  the  midst  of  ruins/ 
a  very  tottering  column  too."  "  Do  you  really  think,"  said 
Charles,  "  that  people  mean  so  little  what  they  say  ?  "  "  You 
take  matters  too  seriously,  Reding,"  answered  Carlton  ;  "  who 
does  not  change  his  opinions  between  twenty  and  thirty  ?  A 
young  man  enters  life  with  his  father's  or  tutor's  views ;  he 
changes  them  for  his  own.  The  more  modest  and  diffident  he 
is,  the  more  faith  he  has,  so  much  the  longer  does  he  speak  the 
words  of  others  ;  but  the  force  of  circumstances,  or  the  vigor  of 
his  mind,  infallibly  obliges  him  at  last  to  have  a  mind  of  his 
own  ;  that  is,  if  he  is  good  for  any  thing."  "But  I  susptct," 
said  Reding,  "  that  the  last  generation,  whether  of  fathers  or 
tutors,  had  no  very  exalted  ideas  of  clerical  celibacy."  "  Ac- 
cidents often  clothe  us  with  opinions  which  we  wear  for  a  time," 
said  Carlton.  "  Well,  I  honor  people  who  wear  their  family 
suit ;  I  don't  honor  those  at  all  who  begin  with  foreign  fashions 
and  then  abandon  them."  "A  few  years  more,  of  life,"  said 
Carlton  smiling,  "  will  make  your  judgment  kinder."  "  I  don't 
like  talkers,"  continued  Charles ;  "  I  don't  think  I  ever  shall ;  I 
hope  not."  "  I  know  better  what's  at  the  bottom  of  it,"  said 
Sheffield  ;  "  but  I  can't  stay  ;  I  must  go  in  and  read  ;  Reding  is 
too  fond  of  a  gossip."  "  Who  talks  so  much  as  you,  Sheffield  ?  " 
said  Charles.  "  But  I  talk  fast  when  I  talk,"  answered  he, 
"  and  get  through  a  great  deal  of  work  ;  then  I  give  over  :  but 
you  prose,  and  muse,  and  sigh,  and  prose  again."  And  so  he 
left  them. 

"  What  does  he  mean  ?  "  asked  Carlton.  Charles  slightly 
colored  and  laughed :  "  You  are  a  man  I  say  things  to,  I  don't 
to  others,"  he  made  answer  ;  "  as  to  Sheffield,  he  fancies  he  has 
found  it  out  himself."  Carlton  looked  round  at  him  sharply 
and  curiously.  "  I  am  ashamed  of  myself,"  said  Charles,  laugh- 
ing and  looking  confused ;  "  I  have  made  you  think  that  I  have 
something  important  to  tell,  but  really  I  have  nothing  at  all." 
"  Well,  out  with  it,"  said  Carlton.  "  Why,  to  tell  the  truth,  — 
no,  really,  it  is  too  absurd.  I  have  made  a  fool  of  myself."  He 
turned  away,  then  turned  back,  and  resumed ;  "  Why,  it  was 
only  this,  that  Sheffield  fancies  I  have  some  sneaking  kindness 
fQj,  *  *  *  ceUbacy  myself."  "  Kindness  for  whom  ?  "  said 
Carlton.     "  Kindness  for  celibacy."     There  was  a  pause,  and 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  '  115 

Carlton's  face  somewhat  changed.  "  O,  my  dear  good  fellow/* 
he  said,  kindly,  "  so  you  are  one  of  them ;  but  it  will  go  off." 
"  Perhaps  it  will,"  said  Charles :  "  O,  I  am  laying  no  stress 
upon  it.  It  was  Sheffield  who  made  me  mention  it."  A  real 
difference  of  mind  and  view  had  evidently  been  struck  upon  by 
two  friends,  very  congenial  and  very  fond  of  each  other.  There 
was  a  pause  for  a  few  seconds. 

"  You  are  so  sensible  a  fellow.  Reding,"  said  Carlton,  "  it 
surprises  me  that  you  should  take  up  this  notion."  "  It's  no 
new  notion  taken  up,"  answered  Charles  ;  "  you  wmII  smile,  but 
I  had  it  when  a  boy  at  school,  and  I  have  ever  since  fancied 
that  I  should  never  marry.  Not  that  the  feeling  has  never  in- 
termitted, but  it  is  the  habit  of  my  mind.  My  general  thoughts 
run  in  that  one  way,  that  I  shall  never  marry.  If  I  did,  I 
fehould  dread  Thalaba's  punishment."  Carlton  put  his  hand  on 
Reding's  shoulder,  and  gently  shook  him  to  and  fro  ;  "  Well,  it 
surprises  me,"  he  said ;  then,  after  a  pause,  "  I  have  been  ac- 
customed to  think  both  celibacy  and  marriage  good  in  their  way. 
In  the  Church  of  Rome,  great  good,  I  see,  comes  of  celibacy  ; 
but,  depend  on  it,  my  dear  Reding,  you  are  making  a  great 
blunder,  if  you  are  for  introducing  celibacy  into  the  Anglican 
Church."  "  There's  nothing  against  it  in  Prayer  book  or  Ar- 
ticles," said  Charles.  "  Perhaps  not ;  but  the  whole  genius, 
structure,  working  of  our  Church  goes  the  other  way.  For 
instance,  we  have  no  monasteries  to  relieve  the  poor ;  and  if 
we  had,  I  suspect,  as  things  are,  a  parson's  wife  would,  in  prac- 
tical substantial  usefulness,  be  indefinitely  superior  to  all  the 
monks  that  were  ever  shaven.  I  declare,  I  think  the  Bishop 
of  Ipswich  is  almost  justified  in  giving  out  that  none  but  married 
men  have  a  chance  of  preferment  from  him ;  nay,  the  Bishop 
of  Abingdon,  who  makes  a  rule  of  bestowing  his  best  livings  as 
marriage  portions  to  the  most  virtuous  young  ladies  in  his 
diocese."  Carlton  spoke  with  more  energy  than  was  usual  with 
him. 

Charles  answered,  that  he  was  not  looking  to  the  expediency 
or  feasibility  of  the  thing,  but  at  what  seemed  to  him  best  in 
itself,  artd  what  he  could  not  help  admiring.  "  I  said  nothing 
about  the  celibacy  of  clergy,"  he  observed,  "  but  of  celibacy 
generally. '  "  Celibacy  has  no  place  in  our  idea  or  our  system 
of  religion,  depend  on  it,"  said  Carlton.  "  It  is  nothing  to  the 
purpose,  whether  there  is  any  thing  in  the  Articles  against  it ; 


116  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

it  is  not  a  question  about  formal  enactments,  but  whether  the 
genius  of  Anglicanism  is  not  utterly  at  variance  with  it.  The 
experience  of  three  hundred  years  is  surely  abundant  for  our 
purpose ;  if  we  don't  know  what  our  religion  is  in  that  time, 
what  time  will  be  long  enough  ?  there  are  forms  of  religion 
which  have  not  lasted  so  long  from  first  to  last.  Now  enumer- 
ate the  cases  of  celibacy  for  celibacy's  sake  in  that  time,  and 
what  will  be  the  sum  total  of  them  ?  Some  instances  there  are  ; 
but  even  Hammond,  who  died  unmarried,  was  going  to  marry 
when  his  mother  wished  it.  On  the  other  hand,  if  you  look 
out  for  types  of  our  Church,  can  you  find  truer  than  the  mar- 
ried excellence  of  Hooker  the  profound,  Taylor  the  devotional, 
and  Bull  the  polemical  ?  The  very  first  reformed  primate  is 
married  ;  in  Pole  and  Parker,  the  two  systems,  Roman  and 
Anglican,  come  into  strong  contrast."  "  Well,  it  seems  to  me 
as  much  a  yoke  of  bondage,"  said  Charles,  "  to  compel  mar- 
riage as  to  compel  celibacy,  and  that  is  what  you  are  really 
driving  at.  .  You  are  telling  me  that  any  one  is  a  black  sheep 
who  does  not  marry."  "  Not  a  very  practical  difficulty  to  you 
at  this  moment,"  said  Carlton ;  "  no  one  is  asking  you  to  go 
about  on  Coelebs'  mission  just  now,  with  Aristotle  in  hand  and 
the  class  list  in  view."  "  Well,  excuse  me,"  said  Charles,  "  if  I 
have  said  any  thing  very  foolish  ;  you  don't  suppose  I  argue 
on  such  subjects  with  others." 


CHAPTER    V. 

They  had  by  this  time  strolled  as  far  as  Carlton's  lodging, 
where  the  books  happened  to  be  on  which  Charles  was  at  that 
time  more  immediately  employed  ;  and  they  took  two  or  three 
turns  under  some  fine  beeches  which  stood  in  front  of  the  house, 
before  entering  it.  "Tell  me.  Reding,"  said  Carlton,  "for 
really  I  don't  understand,  what  are  your  reasons  for  jfdmiring 
what,  in  truth,  is  simply  an  unnatural  state."  "  Don't  let  us 
talk  more,  my  dear  Carlton,"  answered  Reding ;  "  I  shall  go  on 
making  a  fool  of  myself.  Let  well  alone,  or  bad  alone,  pray 
do."     It  was  evident  that  there  was  some  strong  feeling  irritat- 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  117 

ing  him  inwardly ;  the  manner  and  words  were  too  serious  for 
the  occasion.  Carlton,  too,  felt  strongly  upon  what  seemed  at 
first  sight  a  very  secondary  question,  or  he  would  have  left  it 
alone,  as  Charles  asked  him.  "  No ;  as  we  are  on  the  subject, 
let  me  get  at  your  view,"  said  he  :  "  it  was  said  in  the  begin- 
ning, '  Increase  and  multiply ; '  therefore  celibacy  is  unnatural." 
"  Supernatural,"  said  Charles,  smiling.  "  Is  not  that  a  word 
without  an  idea  ?  "  asked  Carlton.  "  We  are  taught  by  Butler 
that  there  is  an  analogy  between  nature  and  grace ;  else  you 
might  parallel  paganism  to  nature,  and  where  paganism  is  con- 
trary to  nature,  say  that  it  is  supernatural.  The  Wesleyan  con- 
vulsions are  preternatural;  why  not  supernatural  ?"  "I  really 
think  that  our  divines,  or  at  least  some  of  them,  are  on  my  side 
here,"  said  Charles  —  "  Jeremy  Taylor,  I  believe."  "  You  have 
not  told  me  what  you  mean  by  supernatural,"  said  Carlton ;  "  I 
want  to  get  at  what  you  think,  you  know."  "  It  seems  to  me," 
said  Charles,  "  that  Christianity,  being  the  perfection  of  nature, 
is  both  like  it  and  unlike  it ;  —  like  it,  where  it  is  the  same  or 
as  much  as  nature ;  unlike  it,  where  it  is  as  much  and  more.  I 
mean  by  supernatural  the  perfection  of  nature."  "  Give  me  an 
instance,"  said  Carlton.  "  Why  consider,  Carlton ;  our  Lord 
says,  '^e  have  heard  that  it  has  been  said  of  old  time,  —  but  / 
say  unto  you  ; '  that  contrast  denotes  the  more  perfect  way,  or 
the  gospel  *  *  *  He  came,  not  to  destroy,  but  to  fulfil 
the  law  *  *  *  I  can't  recollect  of  a  sudden ;  O,  for 
instance,  this  is  a  case  in  point ;  He  abolished  the  permission 
which  had  been  given  to  the  Jews  because  of  the  hardness  of 
their  hearts."  "  Not  quite  in  point,"  said  Carlton,  "  for  the 
Jews,  in  their  divorces,  had  fallen  helow  nature.  '  Let  no  man 
put  asunder,'  was  the  rule  in  paradise."  "  Still,  surely  the 
idea  of  an  Apostle,  unmarried,  pure,  in  fast  and  nakedness,  and 
at  length  a  martyr,  is  a  higher  idea  than  that  of  one  of  the  old 
Israelites,  sitting  under  his  vine  and  fig  tree,  full  of  temporal 
goods,  and  surrounded  by  sons  and  grandsons.  I  am  not  der- 
ogating from  Gideon  or  Caleb;  I  am  adding  to  St.  Paul." 
"  St.  Paul's  is  a  very  particular  case,"  said  Carlton.  "  But  he 
himself  lays  down  the  general  maxim,  that  it  is  '  good '  for  a 
man  to  continue  as  he  was."  "  There  we  come  to  a  question 
of  criticism,  what  '  good '  means  ;  I  may  think  it  means  '  expe- 
dient,' and  what  he  says  about  the  '  present  distress  '  confirms 
it."     "  Well,  I  won't  go  to  criticism,"  said  Charles :  "  take  the 


118  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

text,  ^  in  sin  hath  my  mother  conceived  me.'  Do  not  these 
words  show  that,  over  and  above  the  doctrine  of  original  sin, 
there  is  (to  say  the  least)  great  risk  of  marriage  leading  to  sin 
in  married  people  ?  "  "  My  dear  Reding,"  said  Carlton,  aston- 
ished, "  you  are  running  into  Gnosticism."  "  Not  knowingly  or 
willingly,"  answered  Charles  ;  "  but  understand  what  I  mean. 
It's  not  a  subject  I  can  talk  about ;  but  it  seems  to  me,  without 
of  course  saying  that  married  persons  must  sin  (which  would  be 
Gnosticism),  that  there  is  a  danger  of  sin.  But  don't  let  me  say 
more  on  this  point." 

"  Well,"  said  Carlton,  after  thinking  a  while,  "  /  have  been 
accustomed  to  consider  Christianity  as  the  perfection  of  man  as 
a  whole,  body,  soul,  and  spirit.  Don't  misunderstand  me.  Pan- 
theists say  body  and  intellect,  leaving  out  the  moral  principle  ; 
but  I  say  spirit  as  well  as  mind.  Spirit,  or  the  principle  of  re- 
ligious faith  or  obedience,  should  be  the  master  principle,  the 
hegemonicon.  To  this  both  intellect  and  body  are  subservient ; 
but  as  this  supremacy  does  not  imply  the  ill  usage,  the  bondage 
of  the  intellect,  neither  does  it  of  the  body,  both  should  be  well 
treated."  "  Well,  I  think,  on  the  contrary,  it  does  imply  in 
one  sense  the  bondage  of  intellect  and  body  too.  What  is  faith 
but  the  submission  of  the  intellect  ?  and  as  *  every  high  thought 
is  brought  into  captivity,'  so  are  we  expressly  told  to  bring  the 
body  into  subjection  too.  They  are  both  well  treated,  when 
they  are  treated  so  as  to  be  made  fit  instruments  of  the  sover- 
eign principle."  "  That  is  what  I  call  unnatural,"  said  Carlton. 
"  And  it  is  what  I  mean  by  supernatural,"  answered  Reding, 
getting  a  little  too  earnest.  "  How  is  it  supernatural,  or  adding 
to  nature,  to  destroy  a  part  of  it  ? "  asked  Carlton.  Charles 
was  puzzled.  It  was  a  way,  he  said,  towards  perfection;  but 
he  thought  that  perfection  came  after  death,  not  here.  Our 
nature  could  not  be  perfect  with  a  corruptible  body ;  the  body  was 
treated  now  as  a  body  of  death.  "  Well,  Reding,"  answered  Carl- 
ton, "  you  make  Christianity  a  very  different  religion  from  what 
our  Church  considers  it,  I  really  think  ; "  and  he  paused  a  while. 

"  Look  here,"  he  proceeded  ;  "  how  can  we  rejoice  in  Christ, 
as  having  been  redeemed  by  Him,  if  we  are  in  this  sort  of  gloomy 
penitential  state  ?  How  much  is  said  in  St.  Paul  about  peace, 
thanksgiving,  assurance,  comfort,  and  the  like  !  Old  things  are 
passed  away ;  the  Jewish  Law  is  destroyed ;  pardon  and  peace 
are  come ;  that  is  the  Gospel."     "  Don't  you  think,  then,"  said 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  119 

Charles,  "  that  we  should  grieve  for  the  sins  into  which  we  are 
daily  betrayed,  and  for  the  more  serious  offences  which  from 
time  to  time  we  may  have  committed  ?  "  "  Certainly ;  we  do  so 
in  Morning  and  Evening  Prayer,  and  in  the  Communion  Ser- 
vice." "  Well,  but  supposing  a  youth,  as  is  so  often  the  case, 
has  neglected  religion  altogether,  and  has  a  whole  load  of  sins, 
and  very  heinous  ones,  all  upon  him,  —  do  you  think  that,  when 
he  turns  over  a  new  leaf,  and  comes  to  Communion,  he  is,  on 
saying  the  Confession  (saying  it  with  that  contrition  with  which 
such  persons  ought  to  say  it),  pardoned  at  once,  and  has  nothing 
more  to  fear  about  his  past  sins?"  "  I  should  say,  '  Yes,'"  an- 
swered Carlton.  "  Really,"  said  Charles,  thoughtfully.  "  Of 
course,"  said  Carlton,  "  I  suppose  him  truly  sorry  or  penitent ; 
whether  he  is  so  or  not,  his  future  life  will  show."  "  Well,  some- 
how, I  cannot  master  this  idea,"  said  Charles  ;  "  I  think  most 
serious  persons,  even  for  a  little  sin,  would  go  on  fidgeting  them- 
selves, and  not  suppose  they  gained  pardon  directly  they  asked 
for  it."  "  Certainly,"  answered  Carlton ;  "  but  God  pardons 
those  who  do  not  pardon  themselves."  "  That  is,"  said  Charles, 
"  who  don't  at  once  feel  peace,  assurance,  and  comfort ;  who  don't 
feel  the  perfect  joy  of  the  Gospel."  "  Such  persons  grieve,  but 
rejoice  too,"  said  Carlton.  "  But  tell  me,  Carlton,"  said  Reding ; 
"  is,  or  is  not,  their  not  forgiving  themselves,  their  sorrow,  and 
trouble,  pleasing  to  God  ?  "  "  Surely."  "  Thus  a  certain  self- 
infliction  for  sin  committed  is  pleasing  to  Him ;  and,  if  so,  how 
does  it  matter  whether  it  is  inflicted  on  mind  or  body  ?  "  "  It  is 
not  properly  a  self-infliction,"  answered  Carlton  ;  "  self-infliction 
implies  intention  ;  grief  at  sin  is  something  spontaneous.  When 
you  afflict  yourself  on  purpose,  then  at  once  you  pass  from  pure 
Christianity."  "  Well,"  said  Charles,  "  I  certainly  fancied  that 
fasting,  abstinence,  labors,  celibacy,  might  be  taken  as  a  make- 
up for  sin.  It  is  not  a  very  farfetched  idea.  You  recollect  Dr. 
Johnson's  standing  in  the  rain  in  the  market-place  at  Lichfield 
when  a  man,  as  a  penance  for  some  disobedience  to  his  father 
when  a  boy."  "  But,  my  dear  Reding,"  said  Carlton,  "  let  me 
bring  you  back  to  what  you  said  originally,  and  to  my  answer  to 
you,  which  what  you  now  say  only  makes  more  apposite.  You 
began  by  saying  that  celibacy  was  a  perfection  of  nature,  now 
you  make  it  a  penance ;  first  it  is  good  and  glorious,  next  it  is  a 
medicine  and  punishment."  "  Perhaps  our  highest  perfection 
here  is  penance,"  said  Charles ;  "  but  I  don't   know ;  I   don't 


120  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

profess  to  have  clear  ideas  upon  the  subject/   I  have  talked  more 
than  I  like.     Let  us  at  length  give  over." 

They  did,  in  consequence,  pass  to  other  subjects  connected 
with  Charles's  reading ;  then  they  entered  the  house,  and  set  to 
upon  Polybius :  but  it  could  not  be  denied  that  for  the  rest  of 
the  day  Carlton's  manner  was  not  quite  his  own,  as  if  something 
had  annoyed  him.     Next  morning  he  was  as  usual. 


CHAPTER    VI 


It  is  impossible  to  stop  the  growth  of  the  mind.  Here  was 
Charles  with  his  thoughts  turned  away  from  religious  controver- 
sy for  two  years,  yet  with  his  religious  views  progressing,  unknown 
to  himself,  the  whole  time.  It  could  not  have  been  otherwise,  if 
he  was  to  live  a  religious  life  at  all.  If  he  was  to  worship  and 
obey  his  Creator,  intellectual  acts,  conclusions,  and  judgments, 
must  accompany  that  worship  and  obedience.  He  might  not  re- 
alize his  own  belief  till  questions  had  been  put  to  him  ;  but  then 
a  single  discussion  with  a  friend,  such  as  the  above  with  Carlton, 
would  bring  out  what  he  really  did  hold  to  his  own  apprehen- 
sion, —  would  ascertain  for  him  the  limits  of  each  opinion  as  he 
held  it,  and  the  inter-relations  of  opinion  with  opinion.  He  had 
not  yet  given  names  to  these  opinions,  much  less  had  they  taken 
a  theological  form  ;  nor  could  they,  under  his  circumstances,  be 
expressed  in  theological  language ;  but  here  he  was,  a  young 
man  of  twenty-two,  professing  in  an  hour's  conversation  with  a 
friend,  what  really  were  the  Catholic  doctrine  and  usages,  of 
penance,  purgatory,  councils  of  perfection,  mortification  of  self, 
and  clerical  celibacy.  No  wonder  that  all  this  annoyed  Carlton, 
though  he  no  more  than  Charles  perceived  that  all  this  Catholi- 
cism did  in  fact  lie  hid  under  his  professions ;  but  he  felt  in  what 
Reding  put  out  the  presence  of  something,  as  he  expressed  it, 
"  very  unlike  the  Church  of  England  ; "  something  new  and  un- 
pleasant to  him,  and  withal  something  which  had  a  body  in  it, 
which  had  a  momentum,  which  could  not  be  passed  over  as  a 
vague  sudden  sound  or  transitory  cloud,  but  which  had  much  be- 
hind it,  which  made  itself  felt,  which  struck  heavily. 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  121 

And  here  we  see  what  is  meant  when  a  jDerson  says  that  the 
Catholic  system  comes  home  to  his  mind,  fulfils  his  ideas  of  reli- 
gion, satisfies  his  sympathies,  and  the  like ;  and  thereupon  be- 
comes a  Catholic.  Such  a  person  is  often  said  to  go  by  private 
judgment,  to  be  choosing  his  religion  by  his  own  standard  of 
what  a  religion  ought  to  be.  Now  it  need  not  be  denied  that 
those  who  are  external  to  the  Church  must  begin  with  private 
judgment;  they  use  it  in  order  ultimately  to  supersede  it;  as  a 
man  out  of  doors  uses  a  lamp  in  a  dark  night,  and  puts  it  out 
when  he  gets  home.  What  would  be  thought  of  his  bringing  it 
into  his  drawing  room?  what  would  the  goodly  company  there 
assembled  before  a  genial  hearth  and  under  glittering  chande- 
liers, the  bright  ladies  and  the  well-dressed  gentlemen,  say  to  him 
if  he  came  in  with  a  greatcoat  on  his  back,  a  hat  on  his  head, 
an  umbrella  under  his  arm,  and  a  large  stable  lantern  in  his 
hand  ?  Yet  what  would  be  thought,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he 
precipitated  himself  into  the  inhospitable  night  and  the  war  of 
the  elements  in  his  ball  dress  ?  "  When  the  king  came  in  to  see 
the  guests,  he-  saw  a  man  who  had  not  on  a  wedding  garment : " 
he  saw  a  man  who  determined  to  live  in  the  Church  as  he  had 
lived  out  of  it,  who  would  not  use  his  privileges,  who  would  not 
exchange  reason  for  faith,  who  would  not  accommodate  his 
thoughts  and  doings  to  the  glorious  scene  which  surrounded  him, 
who  was  groping  for  the  hidden  treasure  and  digging  for  the 
pearl  of  price  in  the  high,  lustrous,  all-jewelled  Temple  of  the 
Lord  of  Hosts  ;  who  shut  his  eyes  and  speculated,  when  he  might 
open  them  and  see.  There  is  no  absurdity,  then,  or  inconsisten- 
cy in  a  person  first  using  his  private  judgment,  and  then  de- 
nouncing its  use.     Circumstances  change  duties. 

But  still,  after  all,  the  person .  in  question  does  not,  strictly 
speaking,  judge  of  the  external  system  presented  to  him  by  his 
private  ideas,  but  he  brings  in  the  dicta  of  that  system  to  confirm 
and  to  justify  certain  private  judgments  and  personal  feelings 
and  habits  already  existing.  Charles,  for  instance,  felt  a  diffi- 
culty in  determining  how  and  when  the  sins  of  a  Christian  are 
forgiven;  he  had  a  great  notion  that  celibacy  was  better  than 
married  life.  He  was  not  the  first  person  in  the  Church  of 
England  who  had  had  such  thoughts ;  to  numbers,  doubtless,  be- 
fore him  they  had  occurred;  but  these  numbers  had  looked 
abroad,  and  seen  nothing  around  them  to  justify  what  they  felt, 
and  their  feelings  had,  in  consequence,  either  festered  within 
11 


122  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

them,  or  withered  away.  But  when  a  man,  thus  constituted 
within,  falls  under  the  shadow  of  Catholicism  without,  then  the 
mighty  Creed  at  once  produces  an  influence  upon  him.  He  sees 
that  it  justifies  his  thoughts,  explains  his  feelings;  he  understands 
that  it  numbers,  corrects,  harmonizes,  completes  them ;  and  he  is 
led  to  ask  what  is  the  authority  of  this  foreign  teaching ;  and 
then,  when  he  finds  it  is  what  was  once  received  in  England 
from  north  to  south,  in  England  from  the  very  time  that  Chris- 
tianity was  introduced  here  ;  that,  as  far  as  historical  records  go, 
Christianity  and  Catholicism  are  synonymous  ;  that  it  is  still  the 
faith  of  the  largest  section  of  the  Christian  world ;  and  that  the 
faith  of  his  own  country  is  held  nowhere  but  within  her  own 
limits  and  those  of  her  own  colonies ;  nay  further,  that  it  is 
very  difficult  to  say  what  faith  she  has,  or  that  she  has  any,  — 
then  he  submits  himself  to  the  Catholic  Church,  not  by  a  process 
of  criticism,  but  as  a  pupil  to  a  teacher. 

In  saying  this,  of  course  it  is  not  denied,  on  the  one  hand,  that 
there  may  be  persons  who  come  to  the  Catholic  Church  on  im- 
perfect motives  or  in  a  wrong  way ;  who  choose  it  by  criticism, 
and  who,  unsubdued  by  its  majesty  and  its  grace,  go  on  criticiz- 
ing when  they  are  in  it ;  and  who,  if  they  persist  and  do  not 
learn  humility,  may  criticize  themselves  out  of  it  again.  Nor  is 
it  denied,  on  the  other  hand,  that  some  who  are  not  Catholics 
may  possibly  choose  (for  instance)  Methodism,  in  the  above  moral 
way,  viz.  because  it  confirms  and  justifies  the  inward  feeling  of 
their  hearts.  This  is  certainly  possible  in  idea,  though  what 
there  is  venerable,  awful,  superhuman,  in  the  Wesleyan  Confer- 
ence to  persuade  one  to  take  it  as  a  prophet,  is  a  perplexing 
problem  ;  yet  after  all,  the  matter  of  fact  we  conceive  to  lie  the 
other  way,  viz.  that  Wesleyans  and  other  sectaries  put  themselves 
above  their  system,  not  below  it ;  and  though  they  may  in  bodily 
position  ^'  sit  under  "  their  preacher,  yet  in  the  position  of  their 
souls  and  spirit,  minds,  and  judgments,  they  are  exalted  high 
above  him. 

But  to  return  to  the  subject  of  our  narrative.  What  a  mys- 
tery is  the  soul  of  man !  Here  was  Charles,  bu«y  with  Aristotle 
and  Euripides,  Thucydides  and  Lucretius,  yet  all  the  while  grow- 
ing towards  the  Church,  "  to  the  measure  of  the  age  of  the  fulness 
of  Christ."  His  mother  had  said  to  him  that  he  could  not  escape  his 
destiny ;  it  was  true,  though  it  was  to  be  fulfilled  in  a  way  which 
she,  affection^ite  heart,  cpujd  uot  compass,  did  not  dream  of.     He 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  123 

could  not  escape  the  destiny  of  being  one  of  the  elect  of  God  ;  he 
could  not  escape  that  destiny  which  the  grace  of  his  Redeemer 
bad  stamped  on  his  soul  in  baptism,  which  his  good  angel  had 
seen  written  there,  and  had  done  his  zealous  part  to  keep  invio- 
late and  bright,  which  his  own  cooperation  with  the  influences 
of  Heaven  had  confirmed  and  secured.  He  could  not  escape  the 
destiny,  in  due  time,  in  God's  time  —  (though  it  might  be  long, 
though  angels  might  be  anxious,  though  the  Church  might  plead, 
as  if  defrauded  of  her  promised  increase  of  a  stranger,  yet  a  son ; 
yet  come  it  must,  it  was  written  in  Heaven,  and  the  slow  wheels 
of  time  each  hour  brought  it  nearer)  —  he  could  not  ultimately 
escape  his  destiny  of  becoming  a  Catholic.  And  even  before 
that  blessed  hour,  as  an  opening  flower  scatters  sweets,  so  the 
strange  unknown  odor,  pleasing  to  some,  odious  to  others,  went 
abroad  from  him  upon  the  winds,  and  made  them  marvel  what 
could  be  near  them,  and  made  them  look  curiously  and  anx- 
iously at  him,  while  he  was  unconscious  of  his  own  condition. 
Let  us  be  patient  with  him,  as  his  Maker  is  patient,  and  bear 
that  he  should  do  a  work  slowly  which  he  will  do  well. 

Alas  !  while  Charles  had  been  growing  one  way,  SheflSeld  had 
been  growing  another ;  and  what  that  growth  had  been,  will  ap- 
pear from  a  conversation  which  took  place  between  the  two 
friends,  and  which  shall  be  related  in  the  following  chapter. 


CHAPTER    VII 


Carlton  had  opened  the  small  church  he  was  serving,  for 
Saints'  day  services  during  the  Long  Vacation  ;  and  not  being 
in  the  way  to  have  any  congregation,  and  the  church  at  Horsley 
being  closed  except  on  Sundays,  he  had  asked  his  two  pupils  to 
walk  over  with  him  on  St.  Matthew's  day,  which,  as  the  season 
was  line,  and  the  walk  far  from  a  dull  one,  they  were  very  glad 
to  do.  When  church  was  over,  Carlton  had  to  attend  a  sick 
call  which  lay  still  farther  from  Horsley,  and  the  two  young  men 
walked  back  together. 

"  I  did  not  know  Carlton  was  so  much  of  a  party  man,"  said 
Sheffield ;  "  did  not  his  readins:  the  Athanasian  Creed  strike 


124  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

you?"  "That's  no  mark  of  party  surely,"  answered  Charles. 
*'  To  read  it  on  days  like  these,  I  think,  is  a  mark  of  party ; 
it's  going  out  of  the  way."  Charles  did  not  see  how  obeying  in 
so  plain  a  matter  the  clear  direction  of  the  Prayer  book  could 
be  a  party  act.  "  Direction  !  "  said  Sheffield,  "  as  if  the  question 
were  not,  is  that  direction  now  binding  ?  the  sense,  the  under- 
standing of  the  Church  of  this  day  determines  its  obligation." 
"  The  prima  facie  view  of  the  matter,"  said  Charles,  "  is,  that 
they  who  do  but  follow  what  the  Prayer  book  enjoins  are  of  all 
people  farthest  from  being  a  party."  "  Not  at  all,"  said  Shef- 
field ;  "  rigid  adherence  to  old  customs  surely  may  be  the  badge 
of  a  party.  Now  -consider ;  ten  years  ago,  before  the  study  of 
Church  history  was  revived,  Arianism  and  Athanasianism  either 
were  not  thought  of  at  all,  or,  if  thought  of,  were  considered  as 
questions  of  words,  at  least  as  held  by  most  minds  —  one  as  good 
as  the  other."  "  I  should  say  so  too,  in  one  sense,"  said  Charles, 
"  that  is,  I  should  hope  that  numbers  of  persons,  for  instance  the 
unlearned,  who  were  in  Arian  communities,  spoke  Arian  lan- 
guage, and  yet  did  not  mean  it.  I  think  I  have  heard  that  some 
ancient  missionary  of  the  Goths  or  Huns  was  an  Arian." 
"  Well,  I  will  speak  more  precisely,"  said  Sheffield  :  "  an  Oxford 
man,  some  ten  years  since,  was  going  to  publish  a  history  of  the 
Nicene  Council ;  and  the  bookseller  proposed  to  him  to  prefix 
an  engraving  of  St.  Athanasius,  which  he  had  found  in  some  old 
volume.  He  was  strongly  dissuaded  from  doing  so  by  a  brother 
clergyman,  not  from  any  feeling  of  his  own,  but  because  'Atha- 
nasius was  a  very  unpopular  name  among  us.' "  "  One  swallow 
does  not  make  a  spring,"  said  Charles.  "  This  clergyman,"  con- 
tinued Sheffield,  "  was  a  friend  of  most  High  Church  writers  of 
the  day."  "  Of  course,"  said  Reding,  "  there  has  always  been  a 
heterodox  school  in  our  Church  —  I  know  that  well  enough  — 
but  it  never  has  been  powerful.  Your  lax  friend  was  one  of 
them."  "  I  believe  not,  indeed,"  answered  Sheffield  ;  "  he  lived 
out  of  controversy,  was  a  literary,  accomplished  person,  and 
a  man  of  piety  to  boot.  He  did  not  express  any  feeling  of  his 
own  ;  he  did  but  witness  to  a  fact,  that  the  name  of  Athanasius 
was  unpopular."  "  So  little  was  known  about  history,"  said 
Charles,  "  this  is  not  surprising.  St.  Athanasius,  you  know,  did 
not  write  the  Creed  called  after  him.  It  is  possible  to  think  him 
intemperate,  without  thinking  the  Creed  wrong."  "  Well,  then, 
again  ;  there's  Beatson,  Divinity  Professor ;  no  one  will  call  him 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  125 

in  any  sense  a  party  man :  he  was  put  in  by  the  Tories,  and 
never  has  committed  himself  to  any  liberal  theories  in  theology. 
Now,  a  man  who  attended  his  private  lectures  assures  me  that 
he  told  the  men,  '  D'ye  see,'  said  he,  '  I  take  it,  that  the  old 
Church  of  England  mode  of  handling  the  Creed  went  out  with 
Bull.  After  Locke  wrote,  the  old  orthodox  phraseology  came 
into  disrepute.' "  "  Well,  perhaps  he  meant,"  said  Charles, 
"  that  learning  died  away,  which  was  the  case.  The  old  theo- 
logical language  is  plainly  a  learned  language ;  when  fathers 
and  schoolmen  were  not  read,  of  course  it  would  be  in  abeyance ; 
when  they  were  read  again,  it  has  revived."  "  No,  no,"  answered 
Sheffield,  "  he  said  much  more  on  another  occasion.  Speaking 
of  Creeds  and  the  like,  '  I  hold,'  he  said,  '  that  the  major- 
ity of  the  educated  laity  of  our  Church  are  Sabellians.' " 

Charles  was  silent,  and  hardly  knew  what  reply  to  make. 
Sheffield  went  on  :  "I  was  present  some  years  ago,  when  I  was 
quite  a  boy,  when  a  sort  of  tutor  of  mine  was  talking  to  one  of 
the  most  learned  and  orthodox  divines  of  the  day,  a  man  whose 
name  ha*s  never  been  associated  with  party,  and  the  near  rela- 
tion and  connection  of  high  dignitaries,  about  a  plan  of  his  own 
for  writing  a  history  of  the  Councils.  This  good  and  able  man 
listened  with  politeness,  applauded  the  project ;  then  added,  in  a 
laughing  way,  '  You  know  you  have  chosen  just  the  dullest  sub- 
ject in  Church  history.'  Now  the  Councils  begin  with  the 
Nicene  Creed,  and  embrace  nearly  all  doctrinal  subjects  what- 
ever." "  My  dear  Sheffield,"  said  Charles,  "  you  have  fallen  in 
with  a  particular  set  or  party  of  men  yourself ;  very  respectable 
good  men,  I  don't  doubt,  but  no  fair  specimens  of  the  whole 
Church."  "  I  don't  bring  them  as  authorities,"  answered  Shef- 
field, "  but  as  witnesses."  "  Still,"  said  Charles,  "  I  know  per- 
fectly well,  that  there  was  a  controversy  at  the  end  of  the  last 
century  between  Bishop  Horsley  and  others,  in  which  he  brought 
out  distinctly  one  part  at  least  of  the  Athanasian  doctrine.'* 
"  His  controversy  was  not  a  defence  of  the  Athanasian  Creed,  I 
know  well,"  said  Sheffield ;  "  for  the  subject  came  into  Upton's 
Article  lecture ;  it  was  with  Priestley :  but,  whatever  it  was,  divines 
would  only  think  it  all  very  fine,  just  as  his  Sermons  on  Pro- 
phecy. It  is  another  question  whether  they  would  recognize  the 
worth  either  of  the  one  or  of  the  other.  They  receive  the 
scholastic  terms  about  the  Trinity,  just*  as  they  receive  the 
doctrine  that  the  Pope  is  Antichrist.  When  Horsley  says  the 
11* 


126  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

latter,  or  something  of  the  kind,  good  old  clergymen  say, 
*  Certainly,  certainly,  O  yes,  it's  the  old  Church  of  England 
doctrine,'  thinking  it  right,  indeed,  to  be  maintained,  but  not 
caring  themselves  to  maintain  it,  or  at  most  professing  it  just 
when  mentioned,  but  not  really  thinking  about  it  from  one  year's 
end  to  the  other.  And  so  with  regard  to  the  doctrine  of  the 
Trinity,  they  say,  '  the  great  Horsley,'  '  the  powerful  Horsley  ; ' 
they  don't  indeed  dispute  his  doctrine,  but  they  don't  care  about 
it ;  they  look  on  him  as  a  doughty  champion,  armed  cap-d-pie, 
who  "has  put  down  dissent,  who  has  cut  off  the  head  of  some 
impudent  non-protectionist,  or  insane  chartist,  or  religious  inno- 
vator, who,  under  cover  of  theology,  had  run  a  tilt  against  tithes 
and  Church  rates." 

"  I  can't  think  so  badly  of  our  present  divines,"  said  Charles ; 
"I  know  that  in  this  very  place  there  are  various  orthodox 
writers,  whom  no  one  would  call  party  men."  "  Stop,"  said 
Shetfield,  "  understand  me,  I  was  not  speaking  against  them. 
I  was  but  saying  that  these  anti-Athanasian  views  were  not  un- 
frequent.  I  have  been  in  the  way  of  hearing  a  good  deal  on  the 
subject  at  my  private  tutor's,  and  have  kept  my  eyes  about  me 
since  I  have  been  here.  The  Bishop  of  Derby  was  a  friend  of 
Sheen's  (my  private  tutor),  and  was  promoted  when  I  was  with 
him  ;  and  Sheen  told  me  that  he  wrote  to  him  on  that  occasion, 
*  What  shall  I  read  ?  I  don't  know  any  thing  of  theology.'  I 
rather  think  he  was  recomme'^ded,  or  proposed  to  read  Scott's 
Bible."  "  It's  easy  to  bring  instances,"  said  Charles, "  when  you 
have  all  your  own  way;  what  you  say  is  evidently  all  an 
ex  parte  statement."  "  Take  again  Shipton,  who  died  lately," 
continued  Sheffield;  "what  a  high  position  he  held  in  the 
Church;  yet  it  is  perfectly  well  known  that  he  thought  it  a 
mistake  to  use  the  word  '  Person '  in  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity. 
What  makes  this  stronger  is,  that  he  was  so  very  severe  on 
clergymen  (Tractarians,  for  instance)  who  evade  the  sense  of 
the  Articles.  Now  he  was  a  singularly  honest,  straightlbrward 
man;  he  despised  money;  he  cared  nothing  for  public  opinion ; 
yet  he  was  a  Sabellian.  Would  he  have  eaten  the  bread  of  the 
Church,  as  it  is  called,  for  a  day,  unless  he  had  felt  that  his 
opinions  were  not  inconsistent  with  his  profession  as  Dean  of 
Bath,  and  Prebendary  of  Dorchester  ?  Is  it  not  plain  that  he 
considered  the  practice  of  the  Church  to  have  modified,  to  have 
re-interpreted    its   documents  ? "     "  Why,"  said   Charles,  "  the 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  127 

practice  of  the  Church  cannot  make  black  white ;  or,  if  a 
sentence  means  yes,  make  it  mean  no.  I  won't  deny  that  words 
are  often  vague  and  uncertain  in  their  sense,  and  frequently  need 
a  comment,  so  that  the  teaching  of  the  day  has  great  influence 
in  determining  their  sense;  but  the  question  is,  whether  the 
counter  teaching  of  every  dean,  every,  prebendary,  every  clergy- 
man, every  bishop  in  the  whole  Church,  could  make  the  Atha- 
nasian  Creed  Sabellian ;  I  think  not."  "  Certainly  not,"  answered 
Sheffield ;  "but  the  clergymen  I  speak  of  simply  say  that 
they  are  not  bound  to  the  details  of  the  Creed,  only  to  the  great 
outline  that  there  is  a  Trinity."  "  Great  outline !  "  said  Charles, 
"  great  stuff!  a  Unitarian  would  not  deny  that.  He,  of  course, 
believes  in  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Spirit :  though  he  thinks  the 
Son  a  creature,  and  the  Spirit  an  influence."  "  Well,  I  don't 
deny,"  said  Sheffield,  "  that  if  Dean  Shipton  was  a  sound  mem- 
ber of  the  Church,  Dr.  Priestley  might  have  been  also.  But  my 
doubt  is,  whether,  if  the  Tractarian  school  had  not  risen,  Priest- 
ley might  not  have  been,  had  he  lived  to  this  time,  I  will  not  say 
a  positively  sound  member,  but  sound  enough  for  preferment." 
"  If  the  Tractarian  school  had  not  risen !  that  is  but  saying  if 
our  Church  was  other  than  it  is.  What  is  that  school  but  a 
birth,  an  offspring  of  the  Church?  and  if  the  Church  had  not 
given  birth  to  one  party  of  men  for  its  defence,  it  would  have 
given  birth  to  another."  "  No,  no,"  said  Sheffield ;  "  I  assure 
you  the  old  school  of  doctrine  was  all  but  run  out  when  they 
began  ;  and  I  declare  I  wish  they  had  let  things  alone.  There 
was  the  doctrine  of  the  Apostolical  Succession  ;  a  few  good  old 
men  were  its  sole  remaining  professors  in  the  Church ;  and  a  great 
personage,  on  one  occasion,  quite  scoffed  at  their  persisting  to 
hold  it.  He  maintained  the  doctrine  went  out  with  the  non- 
jurors.    '  You  are  so  few,'  he  said,  '  that  we  can  count  you.' " 

Charles  was  not  pleased  with  the  subject,  on  various  accounts. 
He  did  not  like  what  seemed  to  him  an  attack  of  Sheffield's 
upon  the  Church  of  England ;  and,  besides,  he  began  to  feel 
uncomfortable  misgivings  and  doubts  whether  that  attack  was 
not  well  founded,  to  which  he  did  not  like  to  be  exposed.  Ac* 
cordingly  he  kept  silence,  and,  after  a  short  interval,  attempted 
to  change  the  subject ;  but  Sheffield's  hand  was  in,  and  he 
would  not  be  balked ;  so  he  presently  began  again.  "  I  have 
been  speaking,"  he  said,  "  of  the  liberal  section  of  our  Church. 
There  are  four  parties  in  the  Church.     Of  these  the  old  Tory, 


128  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

or  country  party,  which  is  out  and  out  the  largest,  has  no  opin- 
ion at  all,  but  merely  takes  up  the  theology  or  no-theology  of 
the  day,  and  cannot  properly  be  said  to  '  hold  '  what  the  Creed 
calls  '  the  Catholic  faith/  It  does  not  deny  it ;  it  may  not 
knowingly  disbelieve  it ;  but  it  gives  no  sign  of  actually  holding 
it,  beyond  the  fact  that  it  treats  it  with  respect.  I  will  venture 
to  say,  that  not  a  country  parson  of  them  all,  from  year's  end  to 
year's  end,  makes  once  a  year  what  Catholics  call  '  an  act  of 
faith '  in  that  special  and  very  distinctive  mystery  contained  in  the 
clauses  of  the  Athanasian  Creed."  Then  seeing  Charles  looked 
rather  hurt,  he  added,  "  I  am  not  speaking  of  any  particular 
clergyman  here  or  there,  but  of  the  great  majority  of  them. 
After  the  Tory  party  comes  the  Liberal ;  which  also  dislikes 
the  Athanasian  Creed,  as  I  have  said.  Thirdly,  as  to  the  Evan- 
gelical ;  I  know  you  have  one  of  the  numbers  of  the  '  Tracts  of 
the  Times'  about  objective  faith.  Now  that  tract  seems  to 
prove  that  the  Evangelical  party  is  implicitly  Sabellian,  and  is 
tending  to  avow  that  belief.  This  too  has  been  already  the 
actual  course  of  Evangelical  doctrine  both  on  the  Continent  and 
in  America.  The  Protestants  of  Geneva,  Holland,  Ulster,  and 
Boston  have  all,  I  believe,  become  Unitarians,  or  the  like.  Dr. 
Adam  Clark  too,  the  celebrated  Wesleyan,  held  the  distinguish- 
ing Sabellian  tenet,  as  Doddridge  is  said  to  have  done  before 
him.  All  this  considered,  I  do  think  I  have  made  out  a  good 
case  for  my  original  assertion,  that  at  this  time  of  day  it  is  a 
party  thing  to  go  out  of  the  way  to  read  the  Athanasian  Creed." 
*'  I  don't  agree  with  you  at  all,"  said  Charles  ;  "  you  say  a  great 
deal  more  than  you  have  a  warrant  to  do,  and  draw  sweeping 
conclusions  from  slender  premises.  This,  at  least,  is  what  seems 
to  me.  I  wish  too  you  would  not  so  speak  of  '  making  out  a 
case.'  It  is  as  if  these  things  were  mere  topics  for  disputation. 
And  I  don't  Tike  your  taking  the  wrong  side ;  you  are  rather 
fond  of  doing  so."  "  Reding,"  answered  Sheffield,  "  I  speak 
what  I  think,  and  ever  will  do  so.  I  will  be  no  party  man.  I 
don't  attempt,  like  Vincent,  to  unite  opposites.  He  is  of  all 
parties,  I  am  of  none.  I  think  I  see  pretty  well  the  hollowness 
of  all."  "  O  my  dear  Sheffield,"  cried  Charles  in  distress,  "  think 
■what  you  are  saying ;  you  don't  mean  what  you  say.  You  are 
speaking  as  if  you  thought  that  belief  in  the  Athanasian  Creed 
was  a  mere  party  opinion."  Sheffield  first  was  silent ;  then  he 
said,  "  Well,  I  beg  your  pardon,  if  I   have   said  any  thing  to 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  123 

annoy  you,  or  have  expressed  myself  interaperately.  But  surely 
one  has  no  need  to  believe  what  so  many  people  either  disbe- 
lieve or  disregard." 

The  subject  then  dropped ;  and  presently  Carlton  overtook 
them  on  the  farmer's  pony  which  he  had  borrowed. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

Reding  had  for  near  two  years  put  aside  his  doubts  about 
the  Articles ;  but  it  was  like  puting  off  the  payment  of  a  bill  — 
a  respite,  not  a  deliverance.  The  two  conversations  which  we 
have  been  recording,  bringing  him  to  issue  on  most  important 
subjects  first  with  one,  then  with  another,  of  two  intimate  friends, 
who  were  bound  by  the  Articles,  as  well  as  he,  uncomfortably 
reminded  him  of  his  debt  to  the  University  and  Church ;  and 
the  nearer  approach  of  his  examination  and  degree  inflicted  on 
him  the  thought  that  the  time  was  coming,  when  he  must  be 
prepared  to  discharge  it. 

One  day,  when  he  was  strolling  out  with  Carlton,  towards 
the  end  of  the  Vacation,  he  had  been  led  to  speak  of  the  num- 
ber of  religious  opinions  and  parties  in  Oxford,  which  had  so 
many  bad  effects,  making  so  many  talk,  so  many  criticize,  and 
not  a  few  perhaps  sceptical  about  truth  altogether.  Then  he 
said,  that,  evil  as  it  was  in  a  place  of  education,  yet  he  feared  it 
was  unavoidable,  if  Carlton's  doctrine  about  parties  were  cor- 
rect; for  if  there  was  a  place  where  differences  of  religious 
opinions  would  show  themselves,  it  would  be  in  a  University. 
"I  am  far  from  denying  it,"  said  Carlton;  "but  all  systems 
have  their  defects ;  no  polity,  no  theology,  no  ritual  is  perfect. 
One  only  came  directly  and  simply  from  Heaven,  the  Jew- 
ish ;  and  even  that  was  removed  because  of  its  unprofitable- 
ness. This  is  no  derogation  from  the  perfection  of  Divine  Rev- 
elation, for  it  arises  from  the  subject  matter  on  and  through 
which  it  operates."  There  was  a  pause ;  then  Carlton  went 
on ;  "  It  is  the  fault  of  most  young  thinkers  to  be  impatient,  if 
they  do  not  find  perfection  in  every  thing  ;  they  are  '  new 
brooms.'  "     Another  pause  ;  he  went  on  agam :  "  What  form  of 


130  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

religion  is  less  objectionable  than  ours  ?  You  see  the  incon- 
veniences of  your  own  system,  for  you  experience  them ;  you 
have  not  felt,  and  cannot  know,  those  of  others."  Charles  was 
still  silent,  and  went  on  plucking  and  chewing  leaves  from  the 
shrubs  and  bushes  through  which  their  path  winded.  At  length 
he  said,  "  I  should  not  like  to  say  it  to  any  one  but  you,  Carlton ; 
but,  do  you  know,  I  was  very  uncomfortable  about  the  Articles, 
going  on  for  two  years  since  ;  I  really  could  not  understand 
them,  and  their  history  makes  matters  worse.  I  put  the  sub- 
ject from  me  altogether ;  but  now  my  examination  and  degree 
are  coming  on,  I  must  take  it  up  again."  "  You  must  have  been 
put  into  the  Article  lecture  early,"  said  Carlton.  "  Well,  per- 
haps I  was  not  up  to  the  subject,"  answered  Charles.  "  I  didn't 
mean  that,"  said  Carlton  ;  "  but  as  to  the  thing  itself,  my  dear 
fellow,  it  happens  every  day,  and  especially  to  thoughtful  peo- 
ple like  yourself.  It  should  not  annoy  you."  "  But  my  fidget 
is,"  said  Charles,  "  lest  my  difficulties  should  return,  and  I 
should  not  be  able  to  remove  them."  "You  should  take  all 
these  things  calmly,"  said  Carlton  ;  "  all  things,  as  I  have  said, 
have  their  difficulties.  If  you  wait  till  every  thing  is  as  it  should 
be,  or  might  be  conceivably,  you  will  do  nothing,  and  will  lose 
life.  The  moral  world  is  not  an  open  country ;  it  is  already 
marked  and  mapped  out ;  it  has  its  roads.  You  can't  go  across 
country ;  if  you  attempt  a  steeple  chase,  you  will  break  your 
neck  for  your  pains.  Forms  of  religion  are  facts ;  they  have 
each  their  history.  They  existed  before  you  were  born,  and 
will  survive  you.  You  must  choose,  you  cannot  make."  "  I 
know,"  said  Reding,  "  I  can't  make  a  religion,  nor  can  I  perhaps 
find  one  better  than  my  own.  I  don't  want  to  do  so ;  but  this 
is  not  my  difficulty.  Take  your  own  image.  I  am  jogging 
along  my  own  road,  and  lo,  a  high  turnpike,  fast  locked ;  and 
my  poor  pony  can't  clear  it.  I  don't  complain ;  but  there's  the 
fact,  or  at  least  may  be."  "  The  pony  must,"  answered  Carl- 
ton ;  "  or  if  not,  there  must  be  some  way  about ;  else  what  is  the 
good  of  a  road  ?  In  religion  all  roads  have  their  obstacles  ;  one 
has  a  strong  gate  across  it,  another  goes  through  a  bog.  Is  no 
one  to  go  on  ?  Is  religion  to  be  at  a  dead  lock  ?  Is  Chris- 
tianity to  die  out  ?  Where  else  will  you  go  ?  •  Not  surely  to 
Methodism,  or  Plymouth  brotherism.  As  to  the  Romish  Church, 
I  suspect  it  has  more  difficulties  than  we  have.  You  tnust  sac- 
rifice your  private  judgment."     "  All   this   is  very  good,"   an- 


LOSS    AND    GAIN  131 

swered  Charles ;  "  but  what  is  very  expedient,  still  may  be  very 
impossible.  The  finest  words  about  the  necessity  of  getting 
home  before  nightfall  will  not  enable  my  poor  little  pony  to 
take  the  gate."  "  Certainly  not,"  said  Carlton  ;  "  but  if  you 
had  a  command  from  a  benevolent  Prince,  your  own  Sovereign 
and  Benefactor,  to  go  along  the  road  steadily  till  evening,  and 
he  would  meet  you  at  the  end  of  your  journey,  you  would  be 
quite  sure  that  he  who  had  appointed  the  end  had  also  assigned 
the  means.  And  in  the  difficulty  in  question,  you  ought  to  look 
out  for  some  mode  of  opening  the  gate,  or  some  gap  in  the 
hedge,  or  some  parallel  cut,  some  way  or  other,  which  would 
enable  you  to  turn  the  diflSculty." 

Charles  said,  that  somehow  he  did  not  like  this  mode  of  argu- 
ing; it  seemed  dangerous;  he  did  not  see  whither  it  went,  where 
it  ended.  Presently  he  said  abruptly,  "  Why  do  you  think  there 
are  more  difficulties  in  the  Church  of  Rome  ?  "  "  Clearly  there 
are,"  answered  Carlton  ;  *'  if  the  Articles  are  a  crust,  is  not  Pope 
Pius's  Creed  a  bone  ? "  "I  don't  know  Pope  Pius's  Creed," 
said  Charles;  "I  know  very  little  about  the  state  of  the  case, 
certainly.  What  does  it  say  ?  "  "  0,  it  includes  infallibility,  tran- 
eubstantiation,  saint  worship,  and  the  rest,"  said  Carlton  ;  "  I  sup- 
pose you  could  not  quite  subscribe  these."  "  It  depends,"  answered 
Charles  slowly,  "  on  this  —  on  what  authority  they  came  to  me." 
He  stopped,  and  then  went  on :  "  Of  course  I  could,  if  they  came 
to  me  on  the  same  authority  as  the  doctrine  of  the  Blessed  Trin- 
ity comes.  Now,  the  Articles  come  on  no  authority  ;  they  are 
the  views  of  persons  in  the  sixteenth  century ;  and  again,  it  is 
not  clear  how  far  they  are,  or  are  not,  modified  by  the  unauthor- 
itative views  of  the  nineteentt^v  I  am  obliged,  then,  to  exerci^fi...*- 
my  own  judgment ;  and  I  CandMry  declare  to  you,  that  my  judg- 
ment is  unequal  to  so  great  a  task.  At  least,  this  is  what  troubles 
me,  whenever  the  subject  rises  in  my  mind  ;  for  I  have  put  it 
from  me."  "  Well,  then,"  said  Carlton,  "  take  them  on  faith" 
"  You  mean,  I  suppose,"  said  Charles,  "  that  I  must  consider  our 
Church  infallible"  Carlton  felt  the  difficulty;  he  answered, 
"  No,  but  you  must  act  as  if  it  were  infallible,  from  a  sense  of 
duty."  Charles  smiled;  then  he  looked  grave;  he  stood  still, 
and  his  eyes  fell.  "If  I  am  to  make  a  Church  infallible,"  he 
said,  "  if  I  must  give  up  private  judgment,  if  I  must  act  on  faith, 
there  is  a  Church  which  has  a  greater  claim  on  us  all  than  the 
Church  of  England."     "  My  dear  Reding,"  said   Carlton  with 


132  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

some  emotion,  "  where  did  you  get  these  notions ?  "  "I  don't 
know,"  answered  Charles ;  "  somebody  has  said  that  they  were 
in  the  air.  I  have  talked  to  no  one,  except  one  or  two  arguments 
I  had  with  different  persons  in  my  first  year.  I  have  driven  the 
subject  from  me;  but  when  I  once  begin,  you  see  it  will  out." 

They  walked  on  a  while  in  silence.  "  Do  you  really  mean  to 
say,"  asked  Carlton  at  length,  "  that  it  is  so  difficult  to  understand 
and  receive  the  Articles  ?  To  me  they  are  quite  clear  enough, 
and  speak  the  language  of  common  sense."  "  Well,  they  seem 
to  me,"  said  Reding,  "  sometimes  inconsistent  with  themselves, 
sometimes  with  the  Prayer  book ;  so  that  I  am  suspicious  of  them ; 
I  don't  know  what  I  am  signing  when  I  sign,  yet  I  ought  to  sign 
ex  animo.  A  blind  submission  I  could  make  ;  I  cannot  make  a 
blind  declaration."  "  Give  me  some  instances,"  said  Carlton. 
"  For  example,"  said  Charles,  "  they  distinctly  receive  the  Lu- 
theran doctrine  of  justification  by  faith  only,  which  the  Prayer 
book  virtually  opposes  in  every  one  of  its  Offices.  They  refer 
to  the  Homilies  as  authority,  yet  the  Homilies  speak  of  the  books 
of  the  Apocrypha  as  inspired,  which  the  Articles  implicitly  deny. 
The  Articles  about  Ordination  are  in  their  spirit  contrary  to  the 
Ordination  Service.  One  Article  on  the  Sacraments  speaks  the 
doctrine  of  Melanchthon,  another  that  of  Calvin.  One  Article 
speaks  of  the  Church's  authority  in  controversies  of  faith,  yet 
another  makes  Scripture  the  ultimate  appeal.  These  are  what 
occur  to  me  at  the  moment."  "  Surely  many  of  these  are  but 
verbal  difficulties,  at  very  first  glance,"  said  Carlton,  "  and  all 
may  be  surmounted  with  a  little  care."  "  On  the  other  hand,  it 
has  struck  me,"  continued  Charles,  "  that  the  Church  of  Rome 
is  undeniably  consistent  in  her  formularies ;  this  is  the  very 
charge  some  of  our  writers  make  upon  her,  that  she  is  so  system- 
atic. It  may  be  a  hard,  iron  system,  but  it  is  consistent." 
Carlton  did  not  wish  to  interrupt  him,  thinking  it  best  to  hear 
his  whole  difficulty  ;  so  Charles  proceeded :  "  When  a  system  is 
consistent,  at  least  it  does  not  condemn  itself.  Consistency  is  not 
truth,  but  truth  is  consistency.  Now,  I  am  not  a  fit  judge  wheth- 
er or  not  a  certain  system  is  true,  but  I  may  be  quite  a  judge 
whether  it  is  consistent  with  itself.  When  an  oracle  equivocates, 
it  carries  with  it  its  own  condemnation.  I  almost  think  there  is 
something  in  Scripture  on  this  subject,  comparing  in  this  respect 
the  pagan  and  the  inspired  prophecies.  And  this  has  struck  me 
too,  that  St.  Paul  gives  this  very  account  of  a  heretic,  that  he  is 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  133 

*  condemned  of  himself,'  bearing  his  own  condemnation  on  his 
face.  Moreover,  I  was  once  in  the  company  of  Freeborn  (I  don't 
know  if  you  are  acquainted  with  him),  and  others  of  the  Evan- 
gelical party ;  and  they  showed  plainly,  if  they  were  to  be  trust- 
ed, that  Luther  and  Melanchthon  did  not  agree  together  on  the 
prime  point  of  justification  by  faith;  a  circumstance  which  had 
not  come  into  the  Article  lecture.  Also  I  have  read  somewhere, 
or  heard  in  some  sermon,  that  the  ancient  heretics  always  were 
inconsistent,  never  could  state  plainly  their  meaning,  much  less 
agree  together;  and  thus,  whether  they  would  or  no,  could  not 
help  giving  to  the  simple  a  warning  of  their  true  character,  as  if 
by  their  rattle." 

Charles  stopped  ;  presently  he  continued :  "  This  too  has  struck 
me ;  that  either  there  is  no  prophet  of  the  truth  on  earth,  or  the 
Church  of  Rome  is  that  prophet.  That  there  is  a  prophet  still, 
or  apostle,  or  messengerj  or  teacher,  or  whatever  he  is  to  be 
called,  seems  evident  by  our  believing  in  a  visible  Church.  Now 
common  sense  tells  us  what  a  messenger  from  God  must  be ; 
first,  he  must  not  contradict  himself,  as  I  have  just  been  saying. 
Again,  a  prophet  of  God  can  allow  of  no  rival,  but  denounces 
all  who  make  a  separate  claim,  as  the  prophets  do  in  Scripture. 
Now,  it  is  impossible  to  say  whether  our  Church  acknowledges 
or  not  Lutheranism  in  Germany,  Calvinism  in  Switzerland,  the 
Nestorian  and  Monophysite  bodies  in  the  East.  Nor  does  it 
clearly  tell  us  what  view  it  takes  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  The 
only  place  where  it  recognizes  its  existence  is  in  the  Homilies, 
and  there  it  speaks  of  it  as  Antichrist.  Nor  has  the  Greek 
Church  any  intelligible  position  in  Anglican  doctrine.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  Church  of  Rome  has  this  prima  facie  mark  of  a 
prophet,  that  like  a  prophet  in  Scripture,  it  admits  no  rival,  and 
anathematizes  all  doctrine  counter  to  its  own.  There's  another 
thing.  A  prophet  of  God  is  of  course  at  home  with  his  message ;  he 
is  not  helpless  and  do-nothing  in  the  midst  of  errors  and  in.  the  war 
of  opinions.  He  knows  what  has  been  given  him  to  declare, 
how  far  it  extends  ;  he  can  act  as  an  umpire ;  he  is  equal  to 
emergencies.  This  again  tells  in  favor  of  the  Church  of  Rome. 
As  age  after  age  comes,  she  is  ever  on  the  alert,  questions  every 
new  comer,  sounds  the  note  of  alarm,  hews  down  strange  doc- 
trine, claims  and  locates  and  perfects  what  is  new  and  true.  The 
Church  of  Rome  inspires  me  with  confidence ;  I  feel  I  can  trust 
her.  It  is  another  thing  whether  she  is  true ;  I  am  not  pretend^ 
12 


134  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

ing  now  to  decide  that.  But  I  do  not  feel  the  like  trust  in  our 
own  Church.  I  love  her  more  than  I  trust  her.  She  leaves  me 
without  faith.  Now  you  see  the  state  of  my  mind."  He  fetched 
a  deep  sharp  sigh,  as  if  he  had  got  a  load  off  him. 

"  Well,"  said  Carlton,  when  he  had  stopped,  "  this  is  all  very 
pretty  theory ;  whether  it  holds  in  matter  of  fact,  is  another 
question.  We  have  been  accustomed  hitherto  to  think  Chilling- 
worth  right,  when  he  talks  of  Popes  against  Popes,  Councils 
against  Councils,  and  so  on.  Certainly  you  will  not  be  allowed 
by  Protestant  controversialists  to  assume  this  perfect  consistency 
in  Romish  doctrine.  The  truth  is,  you  have  read  very  little ; 
and  you  judge  of  truth,  not  by  facts,  but  by  notions ;,  I  mean, 
you  think  it  enough  if  a  notion  hangs  together :  though  you  dis- 
avow it,  still,  in  matter  of  fact,  consistency  is  truth  to  you. 
Whether  facts  answer  to  theories,  you  cannot  tell,  and  you  don't 
inquire.  Now  I  am  not  well  read  in  the  subject,  but  I  know 
enough  to  be  sure  that  Romanists  will  have  more  work  to  prove 
their  consistency  than  you  anticipate.  For  instance,  they  appeal 
to  the  Fathers,  yet  put  the  Pope  above  them ;  they  maintain  the 
infallibility  of  the  Church,  and  prove  it  by  Scripture,  and  then 
they  prove  Scripture  by  the  Church.  They  think  a  General 
Council  infallible,  when,  but  not  before,  the  Pope  has  ratified  it ; 
Bellarmine,  I  think,  gives  a  list  of  General  Councils  which  have 
erred.  And  I  never  have  been  able  to  make  out  the  Romish 
doctrine  of  Indulgences."  Charles  thought  over  this  ;  then  he 
said,  "  Perhaps  the  case  is  as  you  say,  that  I  ought  to  know  the 
matter  of  fact  more  exactly  before  attempting  to  form  a  judgment 
on  these  subjects  ;  but,  my  dear  Carlton,  I  protest  to  you,  and 
you  may  think  with  what  distress  I  say  it,  that  if  the  Church 
of  Rome  is  as  ambiguous  as  our  own  Church,  I  shall  be  in  the 
way  to  become  a  sceptic,  on  the  very  ground  that  I  shall  have 
no  competent  authority  to  tell  me  what  to  believe.  The  Ethiopian 
said,  '  How  can  I  know,  unless  some  man  do  teach  me  ? '  and  St. 
Paul  says,  '  Faith  cometh  by  hearing.'  If  no  one  claims  my 
faith,  how  can  I  exercise  it  ?  At  least  I  shall  run  the  risk  of 
becoming  a  Latitudinarian ;  for  if  I  go  by  Scripture  only,  cer- 
tainly there  is  no  creed  given  us  in  Scripture."  "  Our  business," 
said  Carlton,  "  is  to  make  the  best  of  things,  not  the  worst.  Do 
keep  this  in  mind ;  be  on  your  guard  against  a  strained  and  mor- 
bid view  of  things.  Be  cheerful,  be  natural,  and  all  will  bej 
easy."     "  You  are  always  kind  and  considerate,"  said  Charles 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  135 

«  but  after  all,  —  I  wish  I  could  make  you  see  it,  — ■  you  have 
not  a  word  to  say  by  way  of  meeting  my  original  difficulty  of 
subscription.  How  am  I  to  leap  over  the  wall  ?  It's  nothing  to 
the  purpose  that  other  communions  have  their  walls  also." 

They  now  neared  home,  and  concluded  their  walk  in  silence, 
each  being  fully  occupied  with  the  thoughts  which  the  conversa- 
tion had  suggested. 


CHAPTER    IX 


The  Vacation  passed  away  silently  and  happily.  Day  sue 
ceeded  day  in  quiet  routine  employments,  bringing  insensible 
but  sure  accessions  to  the  stock  of  knowledge  and  to  the  intel- 
lectual proficiency  of  both  our  students.  Historians  and  orators 
were  read  for  a  last  time,  and  laid  aside  ;  sciences  were  digested ; 
commentaries  were  run  through  ;  and  analyses  and  abstracts 
completed.  It  was  emphatically  a  silent  toil.  While  others 
might  be  steaming  from  London  to  Bombay  or  the  Havana, 
and  months  in  the  retrospect  might  look  like  years,  with  Reding 
and  Sheffield  the  week  had  scarcely  begun  when  it  was  found  to 
be  ending ;  and  when  October  came,  and  they  saw  their  Oxford 
friends  again^  at  first  they  thought  they  had  a  good  deal  to  say 
to  them,  but  when  they  tried,  they  found  it  did  but  concern  minute 
points  of  their  own  reading  and  personal  matters  ;  and  they  were 
reduced  to  silence,  with  the  wish  to  speak. 

The  season  had  changed,  and  reminded  them  that  Horsley  was 
a  place  for  summer  sojourn,  not  a  dwelling.  There  were  heavy 
raw  fogs  hanging  about  the  hills,  and  storms  of  wind  and  rain. 
The  grass  no  longer  affi^rded  them  a  seat ;  and  when  they  betook 
themselves  in  doors,  it  was  discovered  that  the  doors  and  windows 
did  not  shut  close,  and  that  the  chimney  smoked.  Then  came 
those  fruits,  the  funeral  feast  of  the  year,  mulberries  and  wal- 
nuts ;  the  tasteless,  juiceless  walnut ;  the  dark  mulberry,  juicy 
but  severe,  and  mouldy  withal,  as  gathered  not  from  the  tree,  but 
from  the  damp  earth.  And  thus  that  green  spot  itself  weaned 
them  from  the  love  of  it.  Charles  looked  around  him,  and  rose 
to  depart  as  a  "  conviva  satur.''  "  Edisti  satisy  tempus  abire,^* 
seemed  written  upon  all.     The  swallows  had  taken  leave ;  the 


136 


LOSS    AND    GAIN. 


leaves  were  paling ;  the  light  broke  late,  and  failed  soon.  The 
hopes  of  spring,  the  peace  and  calm  of  summer,  had  given  place 
to  the  sad  realities  of  autumn.  He  was  hurrying  to  the  world, 
who  had  been  up  on  the  mount ;  he  had  lived  without  jars,  with- 
out distractions,  without  disappointments;  and  he  was  now  to 
take  them  as  his  portion.  For  he  was  but  a  child  of  Adam ; 
Horsley  had  been  but  a  respite ;  and  he  had  vividly  brought 
before  his  memory  the  sad  reverse  which  came  upon  him  two 
years  before  —  what  a  happy  summer  —  what  a  forlorn  autumn. 
With  these  thoughts,  he  put  up  his  books  and  papers,  and  turned 
his  face  towards  St.  Savior's. 

Oxford  too  was  not  quite  what  it  had  been  to  him;  the  fresh- 
ness of  his  admiration  for  it  was  over ;  he  now  saw  defects  where 
at  first  all  was  excellent  and  good ;  the  romance  of  places  and 
persons  had  passed  away.  And  there  were  changes  too  :  of  his 
contemporaries,  some  had  already  taken  their  degrees  and  left ; 
others  were  reading  in  the  country ;  others  had  gone  off  to  other 
Colleges  on  Fellowships.  A  host  of  younger  faces  had  sprung 
up  in  hall  and  chapel,  and  he  hardly  knew  their  names.  Rooms 
which  formerly  had  been  his  familiar  lounge  were  now  tenanted 
by  strangers,  who  claimed  to  have  that  right  in  them  which,  to 
his  imagination,  could  only  attach  to  those  who  had  possessed 
them  when  he  himself  came  into  residence.  The  College  seemed 
to  have  deteriorated;  there  was  a  rowing  set,  which  had  not 
been  there  before,  a  number  of  boys,  and  a  large  proportion  of 
snobs. 

But,  what  was  a  real  trouble  to  Charles,  it  got  clearer  and 
clearer  to  his  apprehension,  that  his  intimacy  with  Sheffield  was 
not  quite  what  it  had  been.  They  had,  indeed,  passed  the  Vaca- 
tion together,  and  saw 'of  each  other  more  than  ever:  but  their 
sympathies  in  each  other  were  not  as  strong,  they  had  not  the 
same  likings  and  dislikings ;  in  short,  they  had  not  such  con- 
genial minds  as  they  fancied  when  they  were  freshmen.  There 
was  not  so  much  heart  in  their  conversations,  and  they  more 
easily  endured  to  miss  each  other's  company.  They  were  both 
reading  for  honors  —  reading  hard  ;  but  Sheffield's  whole  heart 
was  in  his  work,  and  religion  was  but  a  secondary  matter  to  him. 
He  had  no  doubts,  difficulties,  anxieties,  sorrows,  which  much 
affected  him.  It  was  not  the  certainty  of  faith  which  made  a 
sunshine  to  his  soul,  and  dried  up  the  mists  of  human  weakness ; 
rather,  he  had  no  perceptible  need  within  him  of  that  vision  of 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  137 

the  Unseen  which  is  the  Christian's  life.  He  was  unblemished 
in  his  character,  exemplary  in  his  conduct ;  but  he  was  content 
with  what  the  perishable  world  gave  him.  Charles's  character- 
istic, perhaps  above  any  thing  else,  was  an  habitual  sense  of  the 
Divine  Presence ;  a  sense  which,  of  course,  did  not  insure  unin- 
terrupted conformity  of  thought  and  deed  to  itself,  but  still  there 
it  was  —  the  pillar  of  the  cloud  before  him  and  guiding  him. 
He  felt  himself  to  be  God's  creature,  and  responsible  to  Him  — 
God's  possession,  not  his  own.  He  had  a  great  wish  to  succeed 
in  the  schools  ;  a  thrill  came  over  him  when  he  thought  of  it ; 
but  ambition  was  not  his  life  ;  he  could  have  reconciled  himself 
in  a  few  minutes  to  failure.  Thus  disposed,  the  only  subjects  on 
which  the  two  friends  freely  talked  together  were  connected  with 
their  common  studies.  They  read  together,  examined  each  other, 
used  and  corrected  each  other's  papers,  and  solved  each  other's 
difficulties.  Perhaps  it  scarcely  came  home  to  Sheffield,  sharp 
as  he  was,  that  there  was  any  flagging  of  their  intimacy.  Reli- 
gious controversy  had  been  the  food  of  his  active  intellect  when 
it  was  novel ;  now  it  had  lost  its  interest,  and  his  books  took  its 
place.  But  it  was  far  different  with  Charles  ;  he  had  felt  inter- 
est in  religious  questions  for  their  own  sake  ;  and  when  he  had 
deprived  himself  of  the  pursuit  of  them,  it  had  been  a  self-de- 
nial. Now  then,  when  they  seemed  forced  on  him  again,  Shef- 
field could  not  help  him,  where  he  most  wanted  the  assistance  of 
a  friend. 

A  still  more  tangible  trial  was  coming  on  him.  The  reader 
has  to  be  told,  that  there  was  at  that  time  a  system  of  espionage 
prosecuted  by  various  well-meaning  men,  who  thought  it  would 
be  doing  the  University  a  seryice  to  point  out  such  of  its  junior 
members  as  were  what  is  called  papistically  inclined.  They  did 
not  perceive  the  danger  such  a  course  involved  of  disposing 
young  men  towards  Catholicism,  by  giving  them  the  bad  report 
of  it,  and  of  forcing  them  further,  by  inflicting  on  them  the  in- 
consistencies of  their  position.  Ideas  which  would  have  lain 
dormant  or  dwindled  away  in  their  minds,  were  thus  fixed,  de- 
fined, located  within  them ;  and  the  fear  of  the  world's  censure 
no  longer  served  to  deter,  when  it  had  been  actually  incurred. 
When  Charles  attended  the  tea  party  at  Freeborn's,  he  was  on 
his  trial ;  he  was  introduced  not  only  into  a  school,  but  into  an 
inquisition  ;  and  since  he  did  not  promise  to  be  a  subject  for 
spiritual  impression,  he  was  forthwith  a  subject  for  spiritual 
12* 


138  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

censure.  He  became  a  marked  man  in  the  circles  of  Capel 
Hall  and  St.  Mark's.  His  acquaintance  with  "Willis  ;  the  ques- 
tions he  had  asked  at  the  Article  lecture  ;  stray  remarks  at  wine 
parties,  —  were  treasured  up,  and  strengthened  the  case  against 
him.  One  time,  on  coming  into  his  rooms,  he  found  Freeborn, 
who  had  entered  to  pay  him  a  call,  prying  into  his  books.  A 
volume  of  sermons,  of  the  school  of  the  day,  borrowed  of  a  friend 
for  the  sake  of  illustrating  Aristotle,  lay  on  his  table ;  and  in  his 
book  shelves  one  of  the  more  philosophical  of  the  "  Tracts  for 
the  Times  "  was  stuck  in  between  a  Hermann  De  Metris  and  a 
Thucydides.  Another  day  his  bed-room  door  was  open,  and 
No.  2  of  the  tea  party  saw  one  of  Overbeck's  sacred  prints 
pinned  up  against  the  wall. 

Facts  like  these  were,  in  most  cases,  delated  to  the  Head  of 
the  house  to  which  a  young  man  belonged  ;  who,  as  a  vigilant 
guardian  of  the  purity  of  his  undergraduates'  Protestantism, 
received  the  information  with  thankfulness,  and  perhaps  asked 
the  informer  to  dinner.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  in  some  cases 
this  course  of  action  succeeded  in  frightening  and  sobering  the 
parties  towards  whom  it  was  directed.  White  was  thus  reclaimed 
to  be  a  devoted  son  and  useful  minister  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land ;  but  it  was  a  kill-or-cure  remedy,  and  not  likely  to  answer 
with  the  more  noble  or  the  more  able  minds.  What  effect  it 
had  upon  Charles,  or  whether  any,  must  be  determined  by  the 
sequel ;  here  it  will  suflBce  to  relate  interviews  which  took  place 
between  him  and  the  Principal  and  Vice  Principal  of  his  Col- 
lege in  consequence  of  it. 


CHAPTER    X 


When  Reding  presented  himself  to  the  Vice  Principal,  the 
Rev.  Joshua  Jennings,  to  ask  for  leave  to  reside  in  lodgings  for 
the  two  terms  previous  to  his  examination,  he  was  met  with  a 
courteous  but  decided  refusal.  It  took  him  altogether  by  sur- 
prise ;  he  had  considered  the  request  as  a  mere  matter  of  form. 
He  sat  half  a  minute  silent,  and  then  rose  to  take  his  departure. 
The  color  came  into  his  cheek ;  it  was  a  repulse  inflicted  only 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  139 

on  idle  men,  who   could  not  be  trusted  beyond  the  eye  of  the 
Dean  of  the  College. 

The  Vice  Principal  seemed  to  expect  him  to  ask  the  reason 
of  his  proceeding ;  as  Charles,  in  his  confusion,  did  not  seem 
likely  to  do  so,  he  condescended  to  open  the  conversation.  It 
was  not  meant  as  any  reflection,  he  said,  on  Mr.  Reding's  moral 
conduct ;  he  had  ever  been  a  well-conducted  young  man,  and 
had  quite  borne  out  the  character  with  which  he  had  come  from 
school ;  but  there  were  duties  to  be  observed  towards  the  com- 
munity, and  its  undergraduate  portion  must  be  protected  from 
the  contagion  of  principles  which  were  too  rife  at  the  moment. 
Charles  was,  if  possible,  still  more  surprised,  and  suggested  that 
there  must  be  some  misunderstanding,  if  he  had  been  repre- 
sented to  the  Vice  Principal  as  connected  with  any  so  called 
party  in  the  place.  "  You  don't  mean  to  deny  that  there  is  a 
party,  Mr.  Reding,"  answered  the  College  authority,  "  by  that 
form  of  expression?"  He  was  a  lean  pale  person,  with  a  large 
hook  nose  and  spectacles ;  and  seemed,  though  a  liberal  in 
creed,  to  be  really  a  nursling  of  that  early  age,  when  Anabap- 
tists fed  the  fires  of  Smithfield.  From  his  years,  practised  tal- 
ent, and  position,  he  was  well  able  to  browbeat  an  unhappy  juve- 
nile who  incurred  his  displeasure  ;  and,  though  he  really  was  a 
kindhearted  man  at  bottom,  he  not  unfrequently  used  his  power. 
Charles  did  not  know  how  to  answer  his  question  :  and  on  his 
silence  it  was  repeated.  At  length  he  said  that  really  he  was 
not  in  a  condition  to  speak  against  any  one  ;  and  if  he  spoke  of 
a  so  called  party,  it  was  that  he  might  not  seem  disrespectful  to 
some  who  might  be  better  men  than  himself  Mr.  Vice  was 
silent,  but  not  from  being  satisfied.  "  What  would  you  call  a 
party,  Mr.  Reding?  what  would  be  your  definition  of  it?'* 
Charles  paused  to  think ;  at  last  he  said :  "  Persons  wlio  band 
together  on  their  own  authority  for  the  maintenance  of  views  of 
their  own."  "  And  will  you  say  that  these  gentlemen  have  not 
views  of  their  own  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jennings.     Charles  assented. 

"  What  is  your  view  of  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  ?  "  said  the 
Vice  Principal  abruptly.  "  My  view  !  "  thought  Charles  ;  "  what 
can  he  mean  ?  my  view  of  the  Articles  !  like  my  opinion  of 
things  in  general.  Does  he  mean  my  '  view,'  whether  they  are 
English  or  Latin,  long  or  short,  good  or  bad,  expedient  or  not, 
Catholic  or  not,  Calvinist  or  Erastian  ?  "  Meanwhile  Jennings 
kept  steadily  regarding  him,  and  Charles  got  more   and   more 


140  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

confused.  "  I  think,"  he  said,  making  a  desperate  snatch  at 
authoritative  words,  "  I  think  that  the  Articles  *  contain  a  godly 
and  wholesome  doctrine,  and  necessary  for  these  times.' "  "  That 
is  the  Second  Book  of  Homilies,  Mr.  Reding,  not  the  Articles. 
Besides,  I  want  your  own  opinion  on  the  subject."  He  pro- 
ceeded, after  a  pause  :  "  What  is  justification  ?  "  "  Justification," 
*  *  *  said  Charles,  repeating  the  word,  and  thinking  ;  then, 
in  the  words  of  the  Article,  he  went  on :  "  We  are  accounted 
righteous  before  God,  but  only  for  the  merit  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  by  faith,  and  not  by  our  own  works  and  deservings." 
"  Right,"  said  Jennings :  "  but  you  have  not  answered  my  que. 
tion.  What  is  justification  ?  "  This  was  very  hard,  for  it  was 
one  of  Charles's  puzzles  what  justification  was  in  itself,  for  the 
Articles  do  not  define  it  any  more  than  faith.  He  answered  to 
this  effect,  that  the  Articles  did  not  define  it.  The  Vice  Prin- 
cipal looked  dissatisfied. 

"  Can  General  Councils  err  ? "  "  Yes,"  answered  Charles. 
This  was  right.  "  What  do  Romanists  say  about  them  ? " 
"  They  think  they  err  too."  This  was  all  wrong.  "  No,"  said 
Jennings^  "they  think  them  infallible."  Charles  was  silent; 
Jennings  tried  to  force  his  decision  upon  him.  At  length 
Charles  said  that  "  only  some  General  Councils  were  admitted 
as  infallible  by  the  Romanists,  and  he  believed  that  Bellarmine 
gave  a  list  of  General  Councils  which  had  erred."  Another 
pause,  and  a  gathering  cloud  on  Jennings's  brow. 

He  returned  to  his  former  subject.  "  In  what  sense  do  you 
understand  the  Articles,  Mr.  Reding  ?  "  he  asked.  That  was 
more  than  Charles  could  tell ;  he  wished  very  much  to  know 
the  right  sense  of  them  ;  so  he  beat  about  for  the  received  an- 
swer. "  In  the  sense  of  Scripture,"  he  said.  This  was  true, 
but  nugatory.  "  Rather,"  said  Jennings,  "  you  understand  Scrip- 
ture in  the  sense  of  the  Articles."  Charles  assented  for  peace' 
sake.  But  his  concession  availed  not ;  the  Vice  Principal  j^ur- 
sued  his  advantage :  "  They  must  not  interpret  each  other,  Mr. 
Reding,  else  you  revolve  in  a  circle.  Let  me  repeat  my  ques- 
tion. In  what  sense  do  you  interpret  the  Articles  ? "  "I  wish 
to  take  them,"  Reding  answered,  "  in  the  general  and  received 
sense  of  our  Church,  as  all  our  divines  and  present  Bishops 
take  them."  The  Vice  Principal  looked  pleased.  Charles 
could  not  help  being  candid,  and  said  in  a  lower  tone,  as  if  words 
of  course,  "  that  is,  on  faith."     This  put  all  wrong  again.     Jen4 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  141 

nings  would  not  allow  this ;  it  was  a  blind,  Popish  reliance ;  it 
was  very  well,  when  he  first  came  to  the  University,  before  he 
had  read  the  Articles,  to  take  them  on  trust ;  but  a  young  man, 
who  had  had  the  advantages  of  Mr.  Reding,  who  had  been  three 
years  at  St.  Savior's  College,  and  had  attended  the  Article 
lectures,  ought  to  hold  the  received  view,  not  only  as  being  re- 
ceived, but  as  his  own,  with  a  free  intellectual  assent.  He  went 
on  to  ask  him  by  what  texts  he  proved  the  Protestant  doctrine 
of  justification.  Charles  gave  two  or  three  of  the  usual  pas- 
sages with  such  success,  that  the  Vice  Principal  was  secretly  be- 
ginning to  relent,  when  unhappily,  on  asking  a  last  question  as 
a  matter  of  course,  he  received  an  answer  which  confirmed  all 
his  former  surmises. 

"What  is  our  Church's  doctrine  concerning  the  intercession 
of  Saints  ?  "  Charles  said  that  he  did  not  recollect  that  it  had 
expressed  any  opinion  on  the  subject.  Jennings  bade  him  think 
again;  Charles  thought  in  vain.  "Well,  what  is  your  opinion 
of  it,  Mr.  Reding  ?  "  Charles,  believing  it  to  be  an  open  point, 
thought  he  should  be  safe  in  imitating  "  our  Church's  "  modera- 
tion. "  There  are  different  opinions  on  the  subject,"  he  said : 
"  some  persons  think  they  intercede  for  us,  others,  that  they  do 
not.  It  is  easy  to  go  into  extremes ;  perhaps  better  to  avoid 
such  questions  altogether ;  better  to  go  by  Scripture ;  the  book 
of  Revelation  speaks  of  the  intercession  of  Saints,  but  does  not 
expressly  say  that  they  intercede  for  us,"  &c.  Jennings  sat  up- 
right in  his  easy  chair,  with  indignation  mounting  into  his  fore- 
head. At  length  his  face  became  like  night.  '"'•That  is  your 
opinion,  Mr.  Reding."  Charles  began  to  be  frightened.  "  Please 
to  take  up  that  Prayer  book,  and  turn  to  the  22d  Article.  Now, 
begin  reading  it."  "  '  The  Romish  doctrine,'  "  said  Charles, — ■ 
" '  the  Romish  doctrine  concerning  purgatory,  pardons,  worship- 
ping and  adoration  as  well  of  images  as  of  relics,  and  also  invo- 
cation of  Saints ' "  —  "  Stop  there,"  said  the  Vice  Principal ; 
"  read  those  words  again."  " '  And  also  invocation  of  Saints.'  " 
"  Now,  Mr.  Reding."  Charles  was  puzzled,  thought  he  had  made 
some  blunder,  could  not  find  it,  and  was  silent.  "Well,  Mr. 
Reding  ?  "  Charles  at  length  said  that  he  thought  Mr.  Jennings 
had  spoken  about  intercession.  "  So  I  did,"  he  made  answer. 
"  And  this,"  said  Charles,  timidly,  "  speaks  of  invocation^ 
Jennings  gave  a  little  start  in  his  arm  chair,  and  slightly  col- 
ored, **  Eh  ?  "  he  said  ;  "  give  me  the  book."     He  slowly  read  the 


142  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

Article,  and  then  cast  a  cautious  eye  over  the  page  before  and 
after.  There  was  no  help  for  it.  He  began  again.  "  And  so, 
Mr.  Reding,  you  actually  mean  to  shelter  yourself  by  that  sub- 
tle distinction  between  invocation  and  intercession;  as  if  Papists 
did  not  invoke  in  order  to  gain  the  Saints'  intercession,  and  as  if 
the  Saints  were  not  supposed  by  them  to  intercede  in  answer  to 
invocation  ?  The  terms  are  correlative.  Intercession  of  Saints, 
instead  of  being  an  extreme  only,  as  you  consider,  is  a  Romish 
abomination.  I  am  ashamed  of  you,  Mr.  Reding ;  I  am  pained 
and  hurt  that  a  young  man  of  your  promise,  of  good  ability, 
and  excellent  morals,  should  be  guilty  of  so  gross  an  evasion  of 
the  authoritative  documents  of  our  Church,  such  an  outrage  upon 
common  sense,  so  indecent  a  violation  of  the  terms  on  which 
alone  he  was  allowed  to  place  his  name  on  the  books  of  this 
society.  I  could  not  have  a  clearer  proof  that  your  mind 
has  been  perverted.  I  fear  I  must  use  a  stronger  term, 
debauched,  by  the  sophistries  and  Jesuitries  which  unhappily 
have  found  entrance  among  us.     Good  morning,  Mr.  Reding." 

So  it  was  a  thing  settled  :  Charles  was  to  be  sent  home,  —  an 
endurable  banishment. 

Before  he  went  down,  he  paid  a  visit  of  form  to  the  old  Princi- 
pal —  a  worthy  man  in  his  generation,  who  before  now  had  raised 
a  congregation  in  a  wild  part  of  the  country,  had  instructed  the 
ignorant  and  fed  the  poor ;  but  now  in  the  end  of  his  days,  fall- 
ing on  evil  times,  was  permitted,  for  inscrutable  purposes,  to  give 
evidence  of  that  evil  puritanical  leaven  which  was  a  secret  ele- 
ment of  his  religion.  He  had  been  kind  to  Charles  hitherto, 
which  made  his  altered  manner  more  distressing  to  him.  "  We 
had  hoped,"  he  said,  "  Mr.  Reding,  that  so  good  a  young  man  as 
you  once  were,  would  have  gained  a  place  on  some  foundation, 
and  been  settled  here,  and  been  a  useful  man  in  his  generation, 
sir  ;  and  a  column,  a  buttress  of  the  Church  of  England,  sir. 
Well,  sir,  here  are  my  best  wishes  for  you,  sir.  When  you  come 
up  for  your  Master's  degree,  sir  —  no,  I  think  it  is  your 
Bachelor's  —  which  is  it,  Mr.  Reding,  are  you  yet  a  Bachelor  ? 
O,  I  see  your  gown."  Charles  said  he  had  not  yet  been  into  the 
schools.  "  Well,  sir,  when  you  come  up  to  be  examined,  I 
should  say  —  to  be  examined  —  we  will  hope  that  in  the  in- 
terval, reflection,  and  study,  and  absence  perhaps  from  danger- 
ous companions,  will  have  brought  you  to  a  soberer  state  of  mind, 
Mr.    Reding."     Charles   was    shocked    at    the    language    used 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  143 

about  him.  "  Really,  sir,"  he  said,  "  if  you  knew  me  better, 
you  would  feel  that  I  am  likely  neither  to  receive  nor  do  harm 
by  remaining  here  between  this  and  Easter."  "  What !  remain  • 
here,  sir,  with  all  the  young  men  about  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Bluett,  with 
astonishment,  "  with  all  the  young  men  about  you,  sir  ? " 
Charles  really  had  not  a  word  to  say ;  he  ^id  not  know  himself 
in  so  novel  a  position.  "  I  cannot  conceive,  sir,"  he  said  at  last, 
"why  I  should  be  unfit  company  for  the  gentlemen  of  the 
College."  Dr.  Bluett's  jaw  dropped,  and  his  eyes  assumed  a 
hollow  aspect.  "You  will  corrupt  their  minds  sir,"  he  said, — 
"  you  will  corrupt  their  minds."  Then  he  added  in  a  sepulchral 
tone,  which  came  from  the  very  depth  of  his  inside,  "  You  will 
introduce  them,  sir,  to  some  subtle  Jesuit  —  to  some  subtle  Jesuit, 
Mr.  Reding." 


CHAPTER    XI. 

Mrs.  Reding  was  by  this  time  settled  in  the  neighborhood 
of  old  friends  in  Devonshire ;  and  there  Charles  spent  the  winter 
and  early  spring  with  her  and  his  three  sisters,  the  eldest  of 
whom  was  two  years  older  than  himself. 

"  Come,  shut  your  dull  books,  Charles,"  said* Caroline,  the 
youngest,  a  girl  of  fourteen ;  "  make  way  for  the  tea ;  I  am  sure 
you  have  read  enough.  You  sometimes  don't  speak  a  word  for 
an  hour  together;  at  least,  you  might  tell  us  what  you  are  read- 
ing about."  "  My  dear  Cary,  you  would  not  be  much  the  wiser 
if  I  did,"  answered  Charles ;  "  it  is  Greek  history."  "  O,"  said 
Caroline,  "  I  know  more  than  you  think ;  I  have  read  Gold- 
smith, and  good  part  of  Rollin,  besides  Pope's  Homer."  "  Cap- 
ital ! "  said  Charles  ;  "  well,  I  am  reading  ab6ut  Pelopidas,  who 
was  he  ?  "  "  Pelopidas  !  "  answered  Caroline,  "  I  ought  to  know. 
O,  I  recollect,  he  had  an  ivory  shoulder."  "  Well  said,  Cary ; 
but  I  have  not  yet  a  distinct  idea  of  him  either.  Was  he  a 
statue,  or  flesh  and  blood,  with  this  shoulder  of  his  ?  "  "  O,  he 
was  alive  ;  somebody  ate  him,  I  think."  "  Well,  was  he  a  god 
or  a  man  ?  "  said  Charles.  "  0,  it's  a  mistake  of  mine,"  said 
Caroline  ;  "  he  was  a  goddess,  the  ivory -footed  —  no,  that  was 
Thetis."     "  My  dear  Caroline,"  said  her  mother,  "do  not  talk  so 


144  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

at  random ;  think  before  you  speak ;  you  know  better  than  this." 
*'  She  has,  ma'am,"  said  Charles,  "  what  Mr.  Jennings  would 
call  *  a  very  inaccurate  mind.' "  "  I  recollect  perfectly  now,"  said 
Caroline,  "  he  was  a  friend  of  Epaminondas."  "  When  did  he 
live  ? "  asked  Charles.  Caroline  was  silent.  "  O,  Cary,"  said 
Eliza,  "don't  you  recollect  the  memoria  technical"  "I  never 
could  learn  it,"  said  Caroline  ;  "  I  hate  it."  "  Nor  can  I,"  said 
Mary ;  "  give  me  good  native  numbers  ;  they  are  sweet  and 
kindly,  hke  flowers  in  a  bed ;  but  I  don't  like  yonr  artificial 
flower  pots."  "  But  surely,"  said  Charles,  "  a  memoria  techmca 
makes  you  recollect  a  great  many  dates  which  you  otherwise 
could  not  ?  "  "  The  crabbed  names  are  more  difficult  even  to 
pronounce  than  the  numbers  to  learn,"  said  Caroline.  "  That's 
because  you  have  very  few  dates  to  get  up,"  said  Charles ;  "  but 
common  writing  is  a  memoria  techmca."  "  That's  beyond  Caro- 
line," said  Mary.  "  What  are  words  but  artificial  signs  for 
ideas  ?  "  said  Charles  ;  "  they  are  more  musical,  but  as  arbitrary. 
There  is  no  more  reason  why  the  sound  '  hat '  should  mean  the 
particular  thing  so  called,  which  we  put  on  our  heads,  then  why 
<  abul-distof '  should  stand  for  1520/'  "0  my  dear  child,"  said 
Mrs.  Reding,  "  how  you  run  on !  Don't  be  paradoxical."  "My 
dear  mother,"  said  Charles,  coming  round  to  the  fire,  "  I  don't 
wish  to  be  paradoxical ;  it's  only  a  generalization."  "  Keep  it, 
then,  for  the  schools,  my  dear ;  I  dare  say  it  will  do  you  good 
there,"  continued  Mrs.  Reding,  while  she  continued  her  hem- 
ming ;  "  poor  Caroline  will  be  as  much  put  to  it  in  logic  as  in 
history." 

"  I  am  in  a  dilemma,"  said  Charles,  as  he  seated  himself  on  a 
little  stool  at  his  mother's  feet ;  "  for  Cary  calls  me  stupid  if  I 
am  silent,  and  you  call  me  paradoxical  if  I  speak."  "  Good 
sense,"  said  his  mother,  "  is  the  golden  mean."  "  And  what  is 
common  sense  ?  "  said  Charles.  "  The  silver  mean,"  said  Eliza. 
"  Well  done,"  said  'Charles  ;  "  it  is  small  change  for  every  hour." 
"  Rather,"  said  Caroline,  "  it  is  the  copper  mean,  for  we  want  it, 
like  alms  for  the  poor,  to  give  away.  People  are  always  asking 
me  for  it.  If  I  can't  tell  who  Isaac's  father  was,  Mary  says,  '  O 
Cary,  where's  your  common  sense  ? '  If  I  am  going  out  of 
doors,  Eliza  runs  up,  '  Cary,'  she  cries,  '  you  haven't  common 
sense ;  your  shawl's  all  pinned  awry.'  And  when  I  ask  mamma 
the  shortest  way  across  the  fields  to  Dalton,  she  says,  '  Use  your 
common  sense,  my  dear.' "     "  No  wonder  you  have  so  little  of 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  145 

it,  poor  dear  child,"  said  Charles ;  "  no  bank  could  stand  such  a 
run."  "  No  such  thing,"  said  Mary ;  "  it  flows  into  her  bank  ten 
times  as  fast  as  it  comes  out.  She  has  plenty  of  it  from  us  ;  and 
what  she  does  with  it,  no  one  can  make  out ;  she  either  hoards  or  she 
speculates."  "  Like  the  great  ocean,"  said  Charles,  "  which  re- 
ceives the  rivers,  yet  is  not  full."  "That's  somewhere  in  Scrip- 
ture," said  EHza.  « In  the  Preacher,"  said  Charles,  and  he  con- 
tinued the  quotation  ;  " '  All  things  are  full  of  labor,  man  can- 
not utter  it ;  the  eye  is  not  satisfied  with  seeing,  nor  the  ear 
filled  with  hearing.' " 

His  mother  sighed  ;  "  Take  my  cup,  my  love,"  she  said  ;  "  no 
more."  "  I  know  why  Charles  is  so  fond  of  the  Preacher,"  said 
Mary ;  "  it's  because  he's  tired  of  reading ;  *  much  study  is  a 
weariness  to  the  flesh  : '  I  wish  we  could  help  you,  dear  Charles." 
"My  dear  boy,  I  really  think  you  read  too  much,"  said  his 
mother ;  "  only  think  how  many  hours  you  have  been  at  it  to- 
day. You  are  always  up  one  or  two  hours  before  the  sun ;  and 
I  don't  think  you  have  had  your  walk  to-day."  "  It's  so  dismal 
walking  alone,  my  dear  mother ;  and  as  to  walking  with  you 
and  my  sisters,  it's  pleasant  enough,  but  no  exercise."  "  But, 
Charlie,"  said  Mary,  "  that's  absurd  of  you  ;  these  nice  sunny 
days,  which  you  could  not  expect  at  this  season,  are  just  the 
time  for  long  walks.  Why  don't  you  resolve  to  make  straight 
for  the  plantations,  or  to  mount  Hart  Hill,  or  go  right  through 
Dun  Wood  and  back  ?  "  "  Because  all  woods  are  dun  and  dingy 
just  now,  Mary,  and  not  green.  It's  quite  melancholy  to  see 
them."  "Just  the  finest  time  of  the  year,"  said  his  mother; 
"  it's  universally  allowed  ;  all  painters  say  that  the  autumn  is 
the  season  to  see  a  landscape  in."  «  All  gold  and  russet,"  said 
Mary.  "  It  makes  me  melancholy,"  said  Charles.  "  What !  the 
beautiful  autumn  make  you  melancholy  .^ "  asked  his  mother. 
"  O,  my  dear  mother,  you  mean  to  say  that  I  am  paradoxical 
again;  I  cannot  help  it.  I  like  spring;  but  autumn  saddens 
me."  "  Charles  always  says  so,"  said  Mary ;  "  he  thinks  noth- 
ing of  the  rich  hues  into  which  the  sober  green  changes  ;  he  likes 
the  dull  uniform  of  summer."  "  No,  it  is  not  that,"  said  Charles  ; 
"  I  never  saw  any  thing  so  gorgeous  as  Magdalen  Water  Walk, 
for  instance,  in  October  ;  it  is  quite  wonderful,  the  variety  of 
colors.  I  admire  and  am  astonished  ;  but  I  cannot  love  or  like 
it.  It  is  because  I  can't  separate  the  look  of  things  from  what  it 
portends  ;  that  rich  variety  is  but  the  token  of  disease  and  death." 
13 


146  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

"  Surely,"  said  Mary,  "  colors  have  their  own  intrinsic  beauty ; 
we  may  like  them  for  their  own  sake."  "  No,  no,"  said  Charles, 
"  we  always  go  by  association ;  else  why  not  admire  raw  beef, 
or  a  toad,  or  some  other  reptiles,  which  are  as  beautiful  and 
bright  as  tulips  or  cherries,  yet  revolting,  because  we  consider 
what  they  are,  not  how  they  look  ?  "  "  What  next  ?  "  said  his 
mother,  looking  up  from  her  work  ;  "my  dear  Charles,  you  are 
not  serious  in  comparing  cherries  to  raw  beef  or  to  toads."  "  No, 
my  dear  mother,"  answered  Charles,  laughing,  "  no,  I  only  say 
that  they  look  like  them,  not  are  like  them."  "  A  toad  look  like 
a  cherry,  Charles ! "  persisted  Mrs.  Reding.  "  O,  my  dear 
mother,"  he  answered,  "  I  can't  explain ;  I  really  have  said 
nothing  out  of  the  way.  Mary  does  not  think  I  have."  "  But," 
said  Mary,  "  why  not  associate  pleasant  thoughts  with  autumn  ?  " 
"  It  is  impossible,"  said  Charles  ;  "  it  is  the  sick  season,  and  the 
death  bed  of  Nature.  I  cannot  look  with  pleasure  on  the  decay 
of  the  mother  of  all  living.  The  many  hues  upon  the  landscape 
are  but  the  spots  of  dissolution."  "  This  is  a  strained,  unnatural 
view,  Charles,"  said  Mary ;  "  shake  yourself,  and  you  will  come 
to  a  better  mind.  Don't  you  like  to  see  a  rich  sunset?  yet  the 
sun  is  leaving  you."  Charles  was  for  a  moment  posed ;  then 
he  said,  "  Yes,  but  there  was  no  autumn  in  Eden ;  suns  rose  and 
set  in  Paradise,  but  the  leaves  were  always  green,  and  did  not 
wither.  There  was  a  river  to  feed  them.  Autumn  is  the  *  fall.' " 
"  So,  my  dearest  Charles,"  said  Mrs.  Reding,  "  you  don't  go 
out  walking  these  fine  days  because  there  was  no  autumn  in  the 
garden  of  Eden  ?  "  "  O,"  said  Charles,  laughing,  "  it  is  cruel  to 
bring  me  so  to  book.  What  I  meant  was,  that  my  reading  was 
a  direct  obstacle  to  walking,  and  that  the  fine  weather  did  not 
tempt  rae  to  remove  it."  "  I  am  glad  we  have  you  here,  my 
dear,"  said  his  mother,  "  for  we  can  force  you  out  now  and 
then  ;  at  College  I  suspect  you  never  walk  at  all."  "  It's  only 
for  a  time,  ma'am,"  said  Charles  ;  "  when  my  examination  is  over, 
I  will  take  as  long  walks  as  I  did  with  Edward  Gandy  that 
winter  after  I  left  school."  "  Ah,  how  merry  you  were  then, 
Charles  !  "  said  Mary  ;  "  so  happy  with  the  thoughts  of  Oxford 
before  you  !  "  "  Ah,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Reding,  "  you'll  then 
walk  too  much,  as  you  now  walk  too  little.  My  good  boy,  you 
are  so  earnest  about  every  thing."  "  It's  a  shame  to  find  fault 
with  him  for  being  diligent,"  said  Mary  :  "  you  like  him  to  read 
for  honors,  I  know,  mamma ;  but  if  he  is  to  get  them,  he  must 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  147 

read  a  great  deal."  "  True,  my  love,"  answered  Mrs.  Reding  ; 
"  Charles  is  a  dear  good  fellow,  I  know.  How  glad  we  all  shall 
be  to  have  him  ordained,  and  settled  in  a  curacy!"  Charles 
sighed.  "  Come,  Mary,"  he  said,  "  give  us  some  music,  now  the 
urn  has  gone  away.  Play  me  that  beautiful  air  of  Beethoven, 
the  one  I  call  '  The  voice  of  the  dead.'  "  "  0,  Charles,  you  do 
give  such  melancholy  names  to  things ! "  cried  Mary.  "  The 
other  day,"  said  Eliza,  "  we  had  a  most  beautiful  scent  wafted 
across  the  road  as  we  were  walking,  and  he  called  it  '  The  ghost 
of  the  past; '  and  he  says  that  the  sound  of  the  -^Eolian  harp  is 
'remorseful.'"  "  Now,  you'd  think  all  that  very  pretty,"  said 
Charles,  "  if  you  saw  it  in  a  book  of  poems ;  but  you  call  it 
melancholy  when  I  say  it."  "  O,  yes,"  said  Caroline,  "  because 
poets  never  mean  what  they  say,  and  would  not  be  poetical 
unless  they  were  melancholy."  "  Well,"  said  Mary,  "  I  play  to 
you,  Charles,  on  this  one  condition,  that  you  let  me  give  you 
some  morning  a  serious  lecture  on  that  melancholy  of  yours, 
which,  I  assure  you,  is  growing  on  you." 


CHAPTER    XII. 


Charles's  perplexities  rapidly  took  a  definite  form  on  his 
coming  into  Devonshire.  The  very  fact  of  his  being  at  home, 
and  not  at  Oxford  where  he  ought  to  have  been,  brought  them 
before  his  mind  ;  and  the  near  prospect  of  his  examination  and 
degree  justified  the  consideration  of  them.  No  addition  indeed 
was  made  to  their  substance,  as  already  described ;  but  they 
were  no  longer  vague  and  indistinct,  but  thoroughly  apprehended 
by  him  ;  nor  did  he  make  up  his  mind  that  they  were  insur- 
mountable, but  he  saw  clearly  what  it  was  that  had  to  be  sur- 
mounted. The  particular  form  of  argument  into  which  they 
happened  to  fall,  was  determined  by  the  circumstances  in  which 
he  found  himself  at  the  time,  and  was  this,  viz. :  how  he  could 
subscribe  the  Article  ex  cmimo,  without  faith,  more  or  less,  in. 
his  Church  as  the  imponent ;  and  next,  how  he  could  have  faith 
in  her,  her  history  and  present  condition  being  what  they  were. 
The  fact  of  these  difiiculties  was  a  great  source  of  distress  to 


148  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

Charles.  It  was  aggravated  by  the  circumstance  that  he  had 
no  one  to  talk  to,  or  to  sympathize  with  him  under  them.  And 
it  was  completed  by  the  necessity  of  carrying  about  with  him  a 
secret  which  he  dared  not  tell  to  others,  yet  which  he  foreboded 
must  be  told  one  day.  All  this  was  the  secret  of  that  depression 
of  spirits  which  his  sisters  had  observed  in  him. 

He  was  one  day  sitting  thoughtfully  over  the  fire  with  a  book 
in  his  hand,  when  Mary  entered.  '"  I  wish  you  would  teach  me 
the  art  of  reading  Greek  in  live  coals,"  she  said.  "  *  Sermons  in 
stones,  and  good  in  every  thing,' "  answered  Charles.  "  You  do 
well  to  liken  yourself  to  the  melancholy  Jacques,"  she  replied. 
"  Not  so,"  said  he,  "  but  to  the  good  Duke  Charles,  who  was 
banished  to  the  green  forest."  "  A  great  grievance,"  answered 
Mary,  "  we  being  the  wild  things  with  whom  you  are  forced  to 
live.  My  dear  Charles,"  she  continued,  "  I  hope  the  tittle  tattle 
that  drove  you  here,  does  not  still  dwell  on  your  mind."  "  Why, 
it  is  not  very  pleasant,  Mary,  after  having  been  on  the  best 
terms  with  the  whole  College,  and  in  particular  with  the  Prin- 
cipal and  Jennings,  at  last  to  be  sent  down,  as  a  rowing  man 
might  be  rusticated  for  tandem  driving.  You  have  no  notion 
how  strong  the  old  Principal  was,  and  Jennings  too."  "  Well, 
my  dearest  Charles,  you  must  not  brood  over  it,"  said  Mary, 
"  as  I  fear  you  are  doing."  "  I  don't  see  where  it  is  to  end," 
said  Charles ;  "  the  Principal  expressly  said  that  my  prospects 
at  the  University  were  knocked  up.  I  suppose  they  would  not 
give  me  a  testimonial,  if  I  wished  to  stand  for  a  fellowship  any 
where."  "  0,  it  is  a  temporary  mistake,"  said  Mary  ;  "  I  dare 
say  by  this  time  they  know  better.  And  it's  one  great  gain  to 
have  you  with  us ;  we,  at  least,  ought  to  be  obliged  to  them." 
"  I  have  been  so  very  careful,  Mary,"  said  Charles  ;  "  I  have 
never  been  to  the  evening  parties,  or  to  the  sermons  which  are 
talked  about  in  the  University.  It's  quite  amazing  to  me  what 
can  have  put  it  into  their  heads.  At  the  Article  lecture  I  now 
and  then  asked  a  question,  but  it  was  really  because  I  wished  to 
understand  and  get  up  the  different  subjects.  Jennings  fell  on 
me  the  moment  I  entered  his  room.  I  can  call  it  nothing  else  ; 
very  civil  at  first  in  his  manner,  but  there  was  something  in  his 
eye  before  he  spoke,  which  lold  me  at  once  what  was  coming. 
It's  odd  a  man  of  such  self-command  as  he,  should  not  better 
hide  his  feelings;  but  I  have  always  been  able  to  see  what  Jen- 
nings was  thinking  about."     "  Depend  on   it,"   said    his  sister, 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  149 

"you  will  think  nothing  of  it  whatever  this  time  next  year.  It 
will  be  like  a  summer  cloud,  come  and  gone."  "  And  then  it 
damps  me,  and  interrupts  me  in  my  reading.  I  fell  back  think- 
ing of  it,  and  cannot  give  my  mind  to  my  books,  or  exert  my- 
self. It  is  very  hard."  Mary  sighed  ;  "  I  wish  I  could  help 
you,"  she  said ;  "  but  women  can  do  so  little.  Come,  let  me 
take  the  fretting,  and  you  the  reading ;  that'll  be  a  fair  divis- 
ion." "  And  then  my  dear  mother  too,"  he  continued ;  "  what 
she  will  think  of  it  when  it  comes  to  her  ears ;  and  come  it 
must."  "  Nonsense,"  said  Mary,  "  don't  make  a  mountain  of  a 
molehill.  You  will  go  back,  take  your  degree,  and  nobody 
will  be  the  wiser."  "  No,  it  can't  be  so,"  said  Charles  seriously. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  Mary.  "  These  things  don't 
clear  off  in  that  way,"  said  he  ;  "  it  is  no  summer  cloud ;  it  may 
turn  to  rain,  for  what  they  know." 

Mary  looked  at  him  with  some  surprise.  "  I  mean,"  he  said, 
"  that  I  have  no  confidence  that  they  will  let  me  take  my  degree, 
any  more  than  reside  there."  "  That  is  very  absurd,"  said  she ; 
"  it's  what  I  meant  by  brooding  over  things,  and  making  moun- 
tains of  molehills."  "  My  sweet  Mary,"  he  said,  affectionately  tak- 
ing her  hand,  "  my  only  real  confidant  and  comfort,  I  would  tell 
you  something  more,  if  you  could  bear  it."  Mary  was  frightened, 
and  her  heart  beat.  "  Charles,"  she  said,  withdrawing  her  hand, 
"  any  pain  is  less  than  to  see  you  thus.  I  see  too  clearly  that 
something  is  on  your  mind."  Charles  put  his  feet  on  the  fender, 
and  looked  down.  "  I  can't  tell  you,"  he  said  at  length,  with 
vehemence  ;  then  seeing  by  her  face  how  much  he  was  distress- 
ing her,  he  said,  half  laughing,  as  if  to  turn  the  edge  of  his  words, 
"  My  dear  Mary,  when  people  bear  witness  against  one,  one  can't 
help  fearing  that  there  is,  perhaps,  something  to  bear  witness 
against."  "  Impossible,  Charles  !  you.  corrupt  other  people  !  you 
falsify  the  Prayer  book  and  Articles  !  impossible  !  "  "  Mary, 
which  do  you  think  would  be  the  best  judge  whether  my  face 
was  dirty  and  my  coat  shabby,  you  or  I  ?  Well,  then,  perhaps 
Jennings,  or  at  least  common  report,  knows  more  about  me 
than  I  do  myself."  "  You  must  not  speak  in  this  way,"  said 
Mary,  much  hurt ;  "  you  really  do  pain  me  now.  What  can  you 
mean  ?  "  Charles  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  at  length 
said  :  "  It's  no  good  ;  you  can't  assist  me  here ;  I  only  pain  you. 
I  ought  not  to  have  begun  the  subject."     There  was  a  silence. 

"  My  dearest  Charles,"  said  Mary  tenderly,  "  come,  I  will 
13* 


150  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

bear  any  thing,  and  not  be  annoyed.  Any  thing  better  than  to 
see  you  go  on  in  this  way.  But  really  you  frighten  me.'* 
'"Why,"  he  answered,  "  when  a  number  of  people  tell  me  that 
Oxford  is  not  ray  place,  not  my  position,  perhaps  they  are  right ; 
perhaps  it  isn't."  "  But  is  that  really  all  ?  "  she  said  ;  "  who 
wants  you  to  lead  an  Oxford  life  ?  not  we."  "  No,  but  Oxford 
implies  taking  a  degree  —  taking  orders."  "  Now,  my  dear 
Charles,  speak  out;  don't  drop  hints;  let  me  know;"  and  she 
sat  down  with  a  look  of  great  anxiety.  "  Well,"  he  said,  mak- 
ing an  effort;  "yet  I  don't  know  where  to  begin;  but  many 
things  have  happened  to  me,  in  various  ways,  to  show  me  that  I 
have  not  a  place,  a  position,  a  home,  that  I  am  not  made  for, 
that  1  am  a  stranger  in,  the  Church  of  England."  There  was 
a  dreadful  pause ;  Mary  turned  very  pale  ;  then,  darting  at  a 
conclusion  with  precipitancy,  she  said  quickly  :  "  You  mean  to 
say,  you  are  going  to  join  the  Church  of  Rome,  Charles."  "  No," 
he  said  ;  "  it  is  not  so.  I  mean  no  such  thing ;  I  mean  just  what 
I  say ;  I  have  told  you  the  whole ;  I  have  kept  nothing  back. 
It  is  this,  and  no  more  —  that  I  feel  out  of  place."  "  Well, 
then,"  she  said,  "  you  must  tell  me  more  ;  for,  to  my  apprehen- 
sion, you  mean  just  what  I  have  said,  nothing  short  of  it."  "I 
can't  go  through  things  in  order,"  he  said  ;  "  but  wherever  I  go, 
whomever  I  talk  with,  I  feel  to  be  another  sort  of  person  from 
what  I  am.  I  can't  convey  it  to  you  ;  you  won't  understand 
me ;  but  the  words  of  the  Psalm,  '  I  am  a  stranger  upon  earth,' 
describe  what  I  always  feel.  No  one  thinks  or  feels  like  me. 
I  hear  sermons,  I  talk  on  religious  subjects  with  friends,  and 
every  one  seems  to  bear"  witness  against  me.  And  now  the  Col- 
lege bears  its  witness,  and  sends  me  down."  "  O,  Charles,"  said 
Mary,  "  how  changed  you  are  !  "  and  tears  came  into  her  eyes ; 
*'  you  used  to  be  so  cheerful,  so  happy.  You  took  such  pleasure 
in  every  one,  in  every  thing.  We  used  to  laugh  and  say,  '  All 
Charlie's  geese  are  swans.'  What  has  come  over  you  ?  "  She 
paused,  and  then  continued  :  "  Don't  you  recollect  those  lines  in 
the  Christian  Tear  ?  I  can't  repeat  them  ;  we  used  to  apply 
them  to  you  ;  something  about  hope  or  love  '  making  all  things 
bright  with  her  own   magic    smile.'  "  Charles  was  touched 

when  he  was  reminded  of  what  he  had  been  three  years  before  ; 
he  said:  "I  suppose  it  is  coming  out  of  shadows  into  realities." 
*'  There  has  been  much  to  sadden  you,"  she  added,  sighing ; 
"  and  now  these  nasty  books  are  too  much  for  you.     Why  should 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  151 

you  go  up  for  honors  ?  what's  the  good  of  it  ?  "     There  was  a 
pause  again. 

"  I  wish  I  could  bring  home  to  you,"  said  Charles,  "  the  num- 
ber of  intimations,  as  it  were,  which  have  been  given  me  of  my 
uncongeniality,  as  it  may  be  called,  with  things  as  they  are.  "What 
perhaps  most  affected  me,  was  a  talk  I  had  with  Carlton,  whom 
I  have  lately  been  reading  with ;  for,  if  I  could  not  agree  with 
him,  or  rather,  if  he  bore  witness  against  me,  who  could  be  ex- 
pected to  say  a  word  for  me  ?  I  cannot  bear  the  pomp  and 
pretence  which  I  see  every  where.  I  am  not  speaking  against 
individuals  ;  they  are  very  good  persons,  I  know  ;  but,  really,  if 
you  saw  Oxford  as  it  is  !  The  Heads  with  such  large  incomes ; 
they  are  indeed  very  liberal  of  their  money,  and  their  wives  are 
often  simple,  self-denying  persons,  as  every  one  says,  and  do  a 
great  deal  of  good  in  the  place  ;  but  I  speak  of  the  system. 
Here  are  ministers  of  Christ  with  large  incomes,  living  in  finely- 
furnished  houses,  with  wives  and  families,  and  stately  butlers 
and  servants  in  livery,  giving  dinners  all  in  the  best  style,  con- 
descending and  gracious,  waving  their  hands  and  mincing  their 
words  as  if  they  were  the  cream  of  the  earth,  but  without  any 
thing  to  make  them  clergymen  but  a  black  coat  and  a  white  tie. 
And  then  Bishops  or  Deans  come  with  women  tucked  under 
their  arm  ;  and  they  can't  enter  church  but  a  fine-powdered  man 
runs  first  with  a  cushion  for  them  to  sit  on,  and  a  warm  sheep- 
skin to  keep  their  feet  from  the  stones."  Mary  laughed  :  "  Well, 
my  dear  Charles,"  she  said,  "  I  did  not  think  you  had  seen  so 
much  of  Bishops,  Deans,  Professors,  and  Heads  of  houses  at  St. 
Savior's ;  you  have  kept  good  company."  "  I  have  my  eyes 
about  me,"  said  Charles,  "and  have  had  quite  opportunities 
enough ;  I  can't  go  into  particulars."  "  Well,  you  have  been 
hard  on  them,  I  think,"  said  Mary  ;  "  when  a  poor  old  man  has 
the  rheumatism,"  and  she  sighed  a  little,  "  it  is  hard  he  mayn't 
have  his  feet  kept  from  the  cold."  "  Ah,  Mary,  I  can't  bring  it 
home  to  you !  but  you  must,  please,  throw  yourself  into  what  I 
say,  and  not  criticize  my  instances  or  my  terms.  What  I  mean  is, 
that  there  is  a  worldly  air  about  every  thing,  as  unlike  as  possi- 
ble the  spirit  of  the  Gospels.  I  don't  impute  to  the  dons  am- 
bition or  avarice ;  but  still,  what  Heads  of  houses.  Fellows,  and 
all  of  them  evidently  put  before  them  as  an  end  is,  to  enjoy  the 
world  in  the  first  place,  and  to  serve  God  in  the  second.  Not 
that  they  don't  make  it  their  final  object  to  get  to  heaven ;  but 


152  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

their  immediate  object  is  to  be  comfortable,  to  marry,  to  have  a 
fair  income,  station,  and  respectability,  a  convenient  house,  a 
pleasant  country,  a  sociable  neighborhood.  There  is  nothing 
high  about  them.  I  declare  I  think  the  Puseyites  are  the  only 
persons  who  have  high  views  in  the  whole  place  ;  I  should  say, 
the  only  persons  who  profess  them,  for  I  don't  know  them  to 
speak  about  them."  He  thought  of  White.  "  Well,  you  are 
talking  of  things  I  don't  know  about,"  said  Mary ;  "  but  I  can't 
think  all  the  young  clever  men  of  the  place  are  looking  out  for 
ease  and  comfort ;  nor  can  I  believe  that  in  the  Church  of  Rome 
money  has  always  been  put  to  the  best  of  purposes."  "  I  said 
nothing  about  the  Church  of  Rome,"  said  Charles ;  "  why  do 
you  bring  in  the  Church  of  Rome  ?  that's  another  thing  altogether. 
What  I  mean  is,  that  there  is  a  worldly  smell  about  Oxford 
which  I  can't  abide.  I  am  not  using  '  worldly '  in  its  worse 
sense.  People  are  religious  and  charitable  ;  but  —  I  don't  like 
to  mention  names  —  but  I  know  various  dons,  and  the  notion  of 
evangelical  poverty,  the  danger  of  riches,  the  giving  up  all  for 
Christ,  all  those  ideas  which  are  first  principles  in  Scripture,  as 
I  read  it,  don't  seem  to  enter  into  their  idea  of  rehgion.  I  de* 
Glare,  I  think  that  is  the  reason  why  the  Puseyites  are  so  un- 
popular." "  Well,  I  can't  see,"  said  Mary,  "  why  you  must  be 
disgusted  with  the  world,  and  with  your  place  and  duties  in  it, 
because  there  are  worldly  people  in  it." 

"  But  I  was  speaking  of  Carlton,"  said  Charles ;  "  do  you 
know,  good  fellow  as  he  is,  —  and  I  love,  admire,  and  respect 
him  exceedingly,  —  he  actually  laid  it  down  almost  as  an  axiom, 
that  a  clergyman  of  the  English  Church  ought  to  marry.  He 
said  that  celibacy  might  be  very  well  in  other  communions,  but 
that  a  man  made  himself  a  fool,  and  was  out  of  joint  with  the 
age,  who  remained  single  in  the  Church  of  England."  Poor 
Charles  was  so  serious,  and  the  proposition  which  he  related  was 
so  monstrous,  that  Mary,  in  spite  of  her  real  distress,  could  not 
help  laughing  out.  "  I  really  cannot  help  it,"  she  said ;  "  well, 
it  really  was  a  most  extraordinary  statement,  I  confess.  But, 
my  dear  Charlie,  you  are  not  afraid  that  he  will  carry  you  off 
against  your  will,  and  marry  you  to  some  fair  lady  before  you 
know  where  you  are."  "  Don't  talk  in  that  way,  Mary,"  said 
Charles ;  "  I  can't  bear  a  joke  just  now.  I  mean,  Carlton  is  so 
sensible  a  man,  and  takes  so  just  a  view  of  things,  that  the  con- 
viction flashed  on  my  mind,  that  the  Church  of  England  really 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  153 

was  what  he  implied  it  to  be  —  a  form  of  religion  very  unlike 
that  of  the  Apostles." 

This  sobered  Mary  indeed.  "  Alas,"  she  said,  "  we  have  got 
upon  very  different  ground  now ;  not  what  our  Church  thinks  of 
you,  but  what  you  think  of  our  Church."  There  was  a  pause. 
**  I  thought  this  was  at  the  bottom,"  she  said ;  "  I  never  could 
believe  that  a  parcel  of  people,  some  of  whom  you  cared  nothing 
for,  telling  you  that  you  were  not  in  your  place,  would  make 
you  think  so,  unless  you  first  felt  it  yourself.  That's  the  real 
truth  ;  and  then  you  interpret  what  others  say  in  your  own  way." 
Another  uncomfortable  pause.  Then  she  continued :  "  I  see 
how  it  will  be.  When  you  take  up  a  thing,  Charles,  I 
know  well  you  don't  lay  it  down.  No,  you  have  made  up 
your  mind  already.  We  shall  see  you  a  Roman  Catholic." 
"Do  you  then  bear  witness  against  me,  Mary,  as  well  as 
the  rest  ?  "  said  he  sorrowfully.  She  saw  her  mistake.  "  No," 
she  answered ;  "  all  I  say  is,  that  it  rests  with  yourself,  not  with 
others.  If  you  have  made  up  your  mind,  there's  no  help  for  it. 
It  is  not  others  who  drive  you,  who  bear  witness  against  you. 
Dear  Charles,  don't  mistake  me,  and  don't  deceive  yourself. 
You  have  a  strong  wiliy 

At  this  moment  Caroline  entered  the  room.  "I  could  not 
think  where  you  were,  Mary,"  she  said ;  "  here  Perkins  has  been 
crying  after  you  ever  so  long.  It's  something  about  dinner ;  I 
don't  know  what.  We  have  hunted  high  and  low,  and  never 
guessed  you  were  helping  Charles  at  his  books."  Mary  gave  a 
deep  sigh,  and  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

Neither  to  brother  nor  to  sister  had  the  conversation  been  a 
satisfaction  or  relief.  "  I  can  go  nowhere  for  sympathy,"  thought 
Charles  ;  "  dear  Mary  does  not  understand  me  more  than  others. 
I  can't  bring  out  what  I  mean  and  feel ;  and  when  I  attempt  to 
do  so,  my  statements  and  arguments  seem  absurd  to  myself.  It 
has  been  a  great  effort  to  tell  her ;  and  in  one  sense  it  is  a  gain, 
for  it  is  a  trial  over.     Else,  I  have  taken  nothing  by  my  move, 


154  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

and  might  as  well  have  held  my  tongue.  I  have  simply  pained 
her,  without  relieving  myself.  By  the  by,  she  has  gone  off  be- 
lieving about  twice  as  much  as  the  fact.  I  was  going  to  set  her 
right,  when  Gary  came  in.  My  only  difficulty  is  about  taking 
orders;  and  she  thinks  I  am  going  to  be  a  Roman  Catholic. 
How  absurd  !  but  women  will  run  on  so ;  give  an  inch,  and  they 
take  an  ell.  I  know  nothing  of  the  Roman  Catholics.  The 
simple  question  is,  whether  I  should  go  to  the  Bar  or  the  Church. 
I  declare  I  think  I  have  made  vastly  too  much  of  it  myself.  I 
ought  to  have  begun  this  way  with  her  :  —  I  ought  to  have  said, 
*  D'you  know,  I  have  serious  thoughts  of  reading  law  ?  '  I've 
made  a  hash  of  it." 

Poor  Mary,  on  the  other  hand,  was  in  a  confusion  of  thought 
and  feeling  as  painful  as  it  was  new  to  her ;  though  for  a  time 
household  matters  and  necessary  duties  towards  her  younger  sis- 
ters occupied  her  mind  in  a  different  direction.  She  had  been 
indeed  taken  at  her  word ;-  little  had  she  expected  what  would 
come  on  her,  when  she  engaged  to  "  take  the  fretting,  while  he 
took  the  reading."  She  had  known  what  grief  was,  not  so  long 
ago  ;  but  not  till  now  had  she  known  anxiety.  Charles's  state 
of  mind  was  a  matter  of  simple  astonishment  to  her.  At  first  it 
quite  frightened  and  shocked  her ;  it  was  as  if  Charles  had  lost 
his  identity,  and  had  turned  out  some  one  else.  It  was  like  a 
great  breach  of  trust.  She  had  seen  there  was  a  good  deal  in 
the  newspapers  about  the  "  Oxford  party  "  and  their  doings ;  and 
at  different  places,  where  she  had  been  on  visits,  she  had  heard 
of  churches  being  done  up  in  the  new  fashion,  and  clergymen  be- 
ing accused,  in  consequence,  of  Popery  —  a  charge  which  she 
had  laughed  at.  But  now  it  was  actually  brought  home  to  her 
door  that  there  was  something  in  it.  Yet  it  was  to  her  incom- 
prehensible, and  she  hardly  knew  where  she  was.  And  that,  of 
all  persons  in  the  world,  her  brother,  her  own  Charles,  with  whom 
she  had  been  one  heart  and  soul  all  their  lives  —  one  so  cheerful, 
so  religious,  so  good,  so  sensible,  so  cautious,  that  he  should  be 
the  first  specimen  that  crossed  her  path  of  the  new  opinions,  —  it 
bewildered  her. 

And  where  had  he  got  his  notions  ?  —  Notions !  she  could  not 
call  them  notions ;  he  had  nothing  to  say  for  himself.  It  was  an 
infatuation ;  he,  so  clever,  so  sharpsighted,  could  say  nothing 
better  in  defence  of  himself  than  tha't  Mrs.  Bishop  of  Monmouth 
was  too  pretty,  and  that  old  Dr.  Stock  sat  upon  a  cushion.     O, 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  155 

ead,  sad  indeed !  How  it  was  he  could  be  so  insensible  to  the 
blessings  he  gained  from  his  Church  and  had  enjoyed  all  his  life ! 
What  could  he  need  ?  She  had  no  need  at  all;  going  to  Church 
was  a  pleasure  to  her.  She  liked  to  hear  the  Lessons  and  the 
Collects,  coming  round  year  after  year,  and  marking  the  seasons. 
The  historical  books  and  prophets  in  summer  ;  then  the  "  stir-up  " 
collect  just  before  Advent :  the  beautiful  collects  in  Advent  itself, 
with" the  Lessons  from  Isaiah  reaching  on  through  Epiphany; 
they  were  quite  music  to  her  ear.  Then  the  Psalms,  varying 
with  every  Sunday ;  they  were  a  perpetual  solace  to  her,  ever 
old  yet  ever  new.  The  occasional  additions  too,  the  Athanasian 
Creed,  the  Benedictus,  Deus  misereatur,  and  Omnia  opera,  which 
her  father  had  been  used  to  read  at  certain  great  feasts ;  and  the 
beautiful  Litany.  What  could  he  want  more  ?  'where  could  he 
find  so  much  ?  Well,  it  was  a  mystery  to  her ;  and  she  could 
only  feel  thankful  that  she  was  not  exposed  to  the  temptations, 
whatever  they  were,  which  had  acted  on  the  powerful  mind  of 
her  brother. 

Then,  she  had  anticipated  how  pleasant  it  would  be  when 
Charles  was  a  clergyman,  and  she  should  hear  him  preach  ;  when 
there  would  be  one  whom  she  would  have  a  right  to  ask  questions 
and  to  consult,  whenever  she  wished.  This  prospect  was  at  an 
end ;  she  could  no  longer  trust  him ;  he  had  given  a  shake  to  her 
confidence  which  it  never  could  recover ;  it  was  gone  forever. 
They  were  all  of  them  women  but  he ;  he  was  their  only  stay, 
now  that  her  father  had  been  taken  away.  What  was  now  to 
become  of  them  ?  To  be  abandoned  by  her  own  brother  !  O, 
how  terrible ! 

And  how  was  she  to  break  it  to  her  mother  ?  for  broken  it 
must  be  sooner  or  later.  She  could  not  deceive  herself;  she 
knew  her  brother  well  enough  to  feel  sure  that,  when  he  had 
really  got  hold  of  a  thing,  he  would  not  let  it  go  again  without 
convincing  reasons ;  and  what  reasons  there  could  be  for  letting 
it  go,  she  could  not  conceive,  if  there  could  be  reasons  for  taking 
it  up.  The  taking  it  up  baffled  all  reason,  all  calculation.  Well, 
but  how  was  her  mother  to  be  told  of  it  ?  Was  it  better  to  let 
her  suspect  it  first,  and  so  break  it  to  her,  or  to  wait  till  the  event 
happened  ?  The  problem  was  too  difficult  for  the  present,  and 
she  must  leave  it. 

This  was  her  state  for  several  days,  till  her  fever  of  mind 
gradually  subsided  into  a  state  of  which  a  dull  anxiety  was  a 


156  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

latent  but  habitual  element,  leaving  her  as  usual  at  ordinary 
times,  but  every  now  and  then  betraying  itself  by  sudden  sharp 
sighs  or  wanderings  of  thought.  Neither  brother  nor  sister,  lov- 
ing each  other  really  as  much  as  ever,  had  quite  the  same  sweet- 
ness and  evenness  of  temper  as  were  natural  to  them ;  self-control 
became  a  duty,  and  the  evening  circle  was  duller  than  before, 
■without  any  one  being  able  to  say  why.  Charles  was  more  at- 
tentive to  his  mother ;  he  no  more  brought  his  books  into  the 
drawing  room,  but  gave  himself  to  her  company.  He  read  to 
them,  but  he  had  little  to  talk  about ;  and  Eliza  and  Caroline 
both  wished  his  stupid  examination  past  and  over,  that  he  might 
be  restored  to  his  natural  liveliness. 

As  to  Mrs.  Reding,  she  did  not  observe  more  than  that  her 
son  was  a  very  hard  student,  and  grudged  himself  a  walk  or 
ride,  let  the  day  be  ever  so  fine.  She  was  a  mild  quiet  person, 
of  keen  feelings  and  precise  habits ;  not  very  quick  at  observa- 
tion ;  and  having  lived  all  her  life  in  the  country,  and  till  heji 
late  loss  having  scarcely  known  what  trouble  was,  she  was  sin 
gularly  unable  to  comprehend  how  things  could  go  on  in  any  way 
but  one.  Charles  had  not  told  her  the  real  cause  of  his  spend- 
ing the  winter  at  home,  thinking  it  would  be  a  needless  vexation 
to  her ;  much  less  did  he  contemplate  harassing  her  with  the  re- 
cital of  his  own  religious  difficulties,  which  were  not  appreciable 
by  her,  and  issued  in  no  definite  result.  To  his  sister  he  did  at- 
tempt an  explanation  of  his  former  conversation,  with  a  view  of 
softening  the  extreme  misgivings  which  it  had  created  in  her 
mind.  She  received  it  thankfully,  and  professed  to  be  relieved 
by  it;  but  the  blow  was  struck,  the  suspicion  was  lodged  deep  in 
her  mind,  —  he  was  still  Charles,  dear  to  her  as  ever,  but  she 
never  could  rid  herself  of  the  anticipation  which  on  that  occasion 
she  had  expressed. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

One  morning  he  was  told  that  a  gentleman  had  asked  for  him, 
and  been  shown  into  the  dining  room.  Descending,  he  saw  the 
tall  slender  figure  of  Bateman,  now  a  clergyman,  and  lately  ap- 
pointed curate  of  a  neighboring  parish.     Charles  had  not  seen 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  157 

him  for  a  year  and  a  half,  and  shook  hands  with  him  very  warm- 
ly, coraphraenting  him  on  his  white  neckcloth,  which  somehow, 
he  said,  altered  him  more  than  he  could  have  expected.  Bate- 
man's  manner  certainly  was  altered ;  it  might  be  the  accident  of 
the  day,  but  he  did  not  seem  quite  at  his  ease  ;  it  might  be  that 
he  was  in  a  strange  house,  and  was  likely  soon  to  be  precipitated 
into  the  company  of  ladies,  to  which  he  had  never  been  used. 
If  so,  the  trial  was  on  the  point  of  beginning ;  for  Charles  said 
instantly  that  he  must  come  and  see  his  mother,  and  of  course 
meant  to  dine  with  them  ;  —  the  sky  was  clear,  and  there  was 
an  excellent  footpath  between  Boughton  and  Melford.  Bateman 
could  not  do  this,  but  he  would  have  the  greatest  pleasure  in  be- 
ing introduced  to  Mrs.  Reding ;  so  he  stumbled  after  Charles 
into  the  drawing  room,  and  was  soon  conversing  with  her  and 
the  young  ladies. 

"  A  charming  prospect  you  have  here,  ma'am,"  said  Bateman, 
"  when  you  are  once  inside  the  housd  It  does  not  promise  out- 
side so  extensive  a  view."  "  No,  it  is  shut  in  with  trees,"  said 
Mrs.  Reding;  "  and  thebrow  of  the  hill  changes  its  direction  so 
much  that  at  first  I  used  to  think  the  prospect  ought  to  be  from 
the  opposite  windows."  "  What  is  that  high  hill  ?  "  said  Bate- 
man. "  It  is  Hart  Hill,"  said  Charles  :  "  there's  a  Roman  camp 
atop  of  it."  "We  can  see  eight  steeples  from  our  windows,'* 
said  Mrs.  Reding ;  — "  ring  the  bell  for  luncheon,  my  dear." 
"  Ah,  our  ancestors,  Mrs.  Reding,"  said  Bateman,  "  thought  more 
of  building  churches  than  we  do  ;  or  rather  than  we  have  done, 
I  should  say,  for  now  it  is  astonishing  what  efforts  are  made  to 
add  to  our  ecclesiastical  structures."  "  Our  ancestors  did  a  good 
deal  too,"  said  Mrs.  Reding ;  "  how  many  churches,  my  dear, 
were  built  in  London  in  Queen  Anne's  time  ?  St.  Martin's  was 
one  of  them."  "  Fifty,"  said  Eliza.  "  Fifty  were  intended," 
said  Charles.  "  Yes,  Mrs.  Reding,"  said  Bateman  ;  "  but  by  an- 
cestors I  meant  the  holy  Bishops  and  other  members  of  our 
Catholic  Church  previously  to  the  Reformation.  For,  though 
the  Reformation  was  a  great  blessing  "  (a  glance  at  Charles), 
"yet  we  must  not,  in  justice,  forget  what  was  done  by  English 
Churchmen  before  it."  "  Ah,  poor  creatures,"  said  Mrs.  Reding, 
"  they  did  one  good  thing  in  building  churches  ;  it  has  saved  us 
much  trouble."  "  Is  there- much  church  restoration  going  on  in 
these  parts  ?  "  said  Bateman,  taken  rather  aback.  "  My  mother 
has  but  lately  come  here,  like  yourself,"  said  Charles  ;  "  yes^ 
14 


158  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

there  is  some ;  Barton  Church,  you  know,"  appealing  to  Mary. 
"  Have  your  walks  extended  so  far  as  Barton  ? "  said  Mary  to 
Bateman.  "  Not  yet,  Miss  Reding,  not  yet,"  answered  he  ;  "  of 
course  they  are  destroying  the  pews."  "  They  are  to  put  in 
seats,"  said  Charles,  "  and  of  a  very  good  pattern."  "  Pews  are 
intolerable,"  said  Bateman  ;  "  yet  the  last  generation  of  incum- 
bents contentedly  bore  them ;  it  is  wonderful." 

A  not  unnatural  silence  followed  this  speech.  Charles  broke 
it  by  asking  if  Bateman  intended  to  do  any  thing  in  the  im- 
provement line  at  Melford.  Bateman  looked  modest.  "  Noth- 
ing of  any  consequence,"  he  said  ;  "  some  few  things  were  done ; 
but  he  had  a  rector  of  the  old  school,  poor  man,  who  was  an 
enemy  to  that  sort  of  thing."  It  was  with  some  malicious  feel- 
ing, in  consequence  of  his  attack  on  clergymen  of  the  past  age, 
that  Charles  pressed  his  visitor  to  give  an  account  of  his  own 
reforms.  "  Why,"  said  Bateman,  "  much  discretion  is  necessary 
in  these  matters,  or  you  do  as  much  harm  as  good ;  you  get  into 
hot  water  with  church  wardens  and  vestries,  as  well  as  with  old 
rectors,  and  again  with  the  gentry  of  Ihe  place,  and  please  no 
one.  For  this  reason  I  have  made  no  attempt  to  introduce  the 
surplice  into  the  pulpit  except  on  the  great  festivals,  intending 
to  familiarize  my  parishioners  to  it  by  little  and  little.  However, 
I  wear  a  scarf  or  stole,  and  have  taken  care  that  it  should  be 
two  inches  broader  than  usual ;  and  I  always  wear  the  cassock 
in  my  parish.  I  hope  you  approve  of  the  cassock,  Mrs.  Re- 
ding ?  "  "  It  is  a  very  cold  dress,  sir  —  that's  my  opinion  —  when 
made  of  silk  or  bombazeen ;  and  very  unbecoming  too,  when 
worn  by  itself."  "  Particularly  behind,"  said  Charles ;  "  it  is 
quite  unshapely."  "  O,  I  have  remedied  that,"  said  Bateman  ; 
"you  have  noticed.  Miss  Reding,  I  dare  say,  the  Bishop's  short 
cassock.  It  comes  to  the  knees,  and  looks  much  like  a  continu- 
ation of  a  waistcoat,  the  straight-cut  coat  being  worn  as  usual. 
Well,  Miss  Reding,  I  have  adopted  the  same  plan  with  the  long 
cassock  ;  I  put  my  coat  over  it."  Mary  had  difficulty  to  keep 
from  smiling ;  Charles  laughed  out.  "  Impossible,  Bateman," 
he  said  ;  "  you  don't  mean  you  wear  your  tailed  French  coat 
over  your  long  straight  cassock  reaching  to  your  ankles  ? " 
"  Certainly,"  said  Bateman  gravely  :  "  I  thus  consult  for  warmth 
and  appearance  too  ;  and  all  my  parishioners  are  sure  to  know 
me.  I  think  this  a  great  point,  Miss  Reding ;  I  hear  the  little 
boys  as  I  pass  say,  '  That's  the  parson.'  "     "  I'll  be  bound  they 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  159 

do,"  said  Charles.  "  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Reding,  surprised  out  of 
her  propriety,  "  did  one  ever  hear  the  like !  "  Bateman  looked 
round  at  her,  startled  and  frightened. 

"  You  were  going  to  speak  of  your  improvements  in  your 
church,"  said  Mary,  wishing  to  divert  his  attention  from  her 
mother.  "  Ah,  true,  Miss  Reding,  true,"  said  Bateman,  "  thank 
you  for  reminding  me  ;  I  have  digressed  to  improvements  in 
my  own  dress.  I  should  have  liked  to  have  pulled  down  the 
galleries  and  lowered  the  high  pews ;  that,  however,  I  could  not 
do.  So  I  have  lowered  the  pulpit  some  six  feet.  Now  by  doing 
so,  first  I  give  a  pattern  in  my  own  person  of  the  kind  of  conde- 
scension or  lowliness  to  which  I  would  persuade  my  people. 
But  this  is  not  all ;  for  the  consequence  of  lowering  the  pulpit 
is,  that  no  one  in  the  galleries  can  see  or  hear  me  preach ;  and 
this  is  a  bonus  on  those  who  are  below."  "  It's  a  broad  hint, 
certainly,"  said  Charles.  "  But  it's  a  hint  for  those  below  also," 
continued  Bateman ;  "  for  no  one  can  see  or  hear  me  in  the 
pews  either,  till  the  sides  are  lowered."  "  One  thing  only  is 
wanting  besides,"  said  Charles,  smiling  and  looking  amiable,  lest 
he  should  be  saying  too  much  ;  "  since  you  are  full  tall,  you 
must  kneel  when  you  preach,  Bateman,  else  you  will  undo  your 
own  alterations."  Bateman  looked  pleased.  "  I  have  antici- 
pated you,"  he  said  ;  "  I  preach  sitting.  It  is  more  comfortable 
to  antiquity  and  to  reason  to  sit  than  to  stand."  "  With  these 
precautions,"  said  Charles,  "  I  really  think  you  might  have 
ventured  on  your  surplice  in  the  pulpit  every  Sunday.  Are 
your  parishioners  contented  ?  "  "  O,  not  at  all,  far  from  it,"  cried 
Bateman  ;  "  but  they  can  do  nothing.  The  alteration  is  so  sim- 
ple." "  Any  thing  besides  ?  "  asked  Charles.  "  Nothing  in  the 
architectural  way,"  answered  he  ;  "  but  one  thing  more  in  the 
way  of  observances.  I  have  fortunately  picked  up  a  very  fair 
copy  of  Jewell,  black  letter ;  and  I  have  placed  it  in  church, 
securing  it  with  a  chain  to  the  wall,  for  any  poor  person  who 
wishes  to  re'ad  it.  Our  church  is  emphatically  the  '  poor  man's 
church,'  Mrs.  Reding."  "  Well,"  said  Charles  to  himself,  "  I'll 
back  the  old  parsons  against  the  young  ones  any  day,  if  this  is  to 
be  their  cut."  Then  aloud :  "  Come,  you  must  see  our  garden  ; 
take  up  your  hat,  and  let's  have  a  turn  in  it.  There's  a  very 
nice  terrace  walk  at  the  upper  end."  Bateman  accordingly, 
having  been  thus  trotted  out  for  the  amusement  of  the  ladies, 


160  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

was  now  led  oflP  again,  and  was  soon  in  the  aforesaid  terrace 
walk,  pacing  up  and  down  in  earnest  conversation  with  Charles. 

"  Reding,  mj  good  fellow,"  said  he,  "  what  is  the  meaning  of 
this  report  concerning  you,  which  is  every  where  about?"  "I 
have  not  heard  it,"  said  Charles  abruptly.  "  Why,  it  is  this," 
said  Bateman ;  "  I  wish  to  approach  the  subject  with  as  great 
delicacy  as  possible :  don't  tell  me  if  you  don't  like  it,  or  tell  me 
just  as  much  as  you  like ;  yet  you  will  excuse  an  old  friend. 
They  say  you  are  going  to  leave  the  Church  of  your  baptism  for 
the  Church  of  Rome."  "  Is  it  widely  spread  ?  "  asked  Charles 
coolly.  "  O,  yes  ;  I  heard  it  in  London  ;  have  had  a  letter  men- 
tioning it  from  Oxford ;  and  a  friend  of  mine  heard  it  given  out 
as  positive  at  a  visitation  dinner  in  Wales."  "  So,"  thought 
Charles,  "  you  are  bringing  your  witness  against  me  as  well  as 
the  rest."  "  Well,  but,  my  good  Reding,"  said  Bateman,  "  why 
are  you  silent  ?  is  it  true  ?  is  it  true  ?  "  "  What  true  ?  that  I 
am  a  Roman  Catholic  ?  O,  certainly ;  don't  you  understand 
that's  why  I  am  reading  so  hard  for  the  schools  ?  "  said  Charles. 
"  Come,  be  serious  for  a  moment,  Reding,"  said  Bateman,  "  do 
be  serious.  Will  you  empower  me  to  contradict  the  report,  or 
to  negative  it  to  a  certain  point,  or  in  any  respect  ?  "  "  O,  to 
be  sure,"  said  Charles,  "  contradict  it  by  all  means,  contradict 
it  entirely.'*  "  May  I  give  it  a  plain,  unqualified,  unconditional, 
categorical,  flat  denial  ? "  asked  Bateman.  "  Of  course,  of 
course."  Bateman  could  not  make  him  out,  and  had  not  a 
dream  how  he  was  teasing  him.  "  I  don't  know  where  to  find 
you,"  he  said.     They  paced  down  the  walk  in  silence. 

Bateman  began  again.  "  You  see,"  he  said,  "  it  would  be 
such  a  wonderful  blindness,  it  would  be  so  utterly  inexcusable, 
in  a  person  like  yourself,  who  had  known  what  the  Church  of 
England  was  ;  not  a  Dissenter,  not  an  unlettered  layman ;  but 
one  who  had  been  at  Oxford,  who  had  come  across  so  many  ex- 
cellent men,  who  had  seen  what  the  Church  of  England  could 
be,  her  grave  beauty,  her  orderly  and  decent  activity  ;  who  had 
seen  churches  decorated  as  they  should  be,  with  candlesticks, 
ciboriums,  faldstools,  lecterns,  antependiums,  piscinas,  roodlofts, 
and  sedilia ;  who,  in  fact,  had  seen  the  Church  service  carried 
out,  and  could  desiderate  nothing ;  —  tell  me,  my  dear  good 
Reding,"  taking  hold  of  his  button  hole,  "  what  is  it  you  want  ? 
what  is  it  ?  name  it."     "  That  you  would  take   yourself  off," 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  161 

Charles  would,  have  said,  had  he  spoken  his  mind ;  he  merely 
said,  however,  that  really  he  desiderated  nothing  but  to  be 
believed  when  he  said  that  he  had  no  intention  of  leaving  his 
own  church.  Bateman  was  incredulous,  and  thought  him  close. 
"  Perhaps  you  are  not  aware,"  he  said,  "  how  much  is  known  of 
the  circumstances  of  your  being  sent  down.  The  old  Principal 
was  full  of  the  subject."  "  What !  I  suppose  he  told  people 
right  and  left,"  said  Reding.  "  O,  yes,"  answered  Bateman  ; 
"  a  friend  of  mine  knows  him,  and  happening  to  call  on  him  soon 
after  you  went  down,  had  the  whole  story  from  him.  He  spoke 
most  kindly  of  you,  and  in  the  highest  terms ;  said  that  it  was 
deplorable  how  much  your  mind  was  warped  by  the  prevalent 
opinions,  and  that  he  should  not  be  surprised  if  it  turned  out 
you  were  a  Romanist  even  while  you  were  at  St.  Savior's ;  any 
how,  that  you  would  be  one  day  a  Romanist  for  certain,  for  that 
you  held  that  the  saints  reigning  with  Christ  interceded  for  us 
in  heaven.  But,  what  was  stronger,  when  the  report  got  about, 
Shefl&eld  said  that  he  was  not  surprised  at  it,  that  he  always 
prophesied  it."  "I  am  much  obliged  to  him,"  said  Charles. 
"  However,  you  warrant  me,"  said  Bateman,  "  to  contradict  it 
—  ^  I  understand  you  — to  contradict  it  peremptorily  ;  that's 
enough  for  me.  It's  a  great  relief;  it's  very  satisfactory.  Well, 
I  must  be  going."  "  I  don't  like  to  seem  to  drive  you  away," 
said  Charles,  "  but  really  you  must  be  going,  if  you  want  to  get 
home  before  nightfall.  I  hope  you  don't  feel  lonely  or  over- 
worked where  you  are.  If  you  are  so  at  any  time,  don't  scruple 
to  drop  into  dinner  here ;  nay,  we  can  take  you  in  for  a  night, 
if  you  wish  it." 

Bateman  thanked  him,  and  they  proceeded  to  the  hall  door 
together ;  when  they  were  nearly  parting,  Bateman  stopped  and 
said,  "  Do  you  know,  I  should  like  to  lend  you  some  books  to 
read.  Let  me  send  up  to  you  Bramhall's  Works,  Thorndike, 
Barrow  on  the  Unity  of  the  Church,  and  Leslie's  Dialogues  on 
Romanism.  I  could  name  others,  but  content  myself  with  these 
at  present.  They  perfectly  settle  the  matter ;  you  can't  help 
being  convinced.  I'll  not  say  a  word  more ;  good  by  to  you, 
good  by." 

14* 


162  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

Much  as  Charles  loved  and  prized  the  company  of  his  mother 
and  sisters,  he  was  not  sorry  to  have  gentlemen's  society ;  so  he 
accepted  with  pleasure  an  invitation  which  Bateman  sent  him 
to  dine  with  him  at  Melford.  Also  he  wished  to  show  Bateman, 
what  no  protestation  could  effect,  how  absurdly  exaggerated  were 
the  reports  which  were  circulated  about  him.  And  as  the  said 
Bateman,  with  all  his  want  of  common  sense,  was  really  a  well- 
informed  man,  and  well  read  in  English  divines,  he  thought 
he  might  incidentally  hear  something  from  him  which  he  could 
turn  to  account.  When  he  got  to  Melford,  he  found  a  Mr.  Camp- 
bell had  been  asked  to  meet  him  ;  a  young  Cambridge  rector 
of  a  neighboring  parish,  of  the  same  religious  sentiments  as 
Bateman,  and,  though  a  little  positive,  a  man  of  clear  head  and 
vigorous  mind. 

They  had  been  going  over  the  church  ;  and  the  conversation 
at  dinner  turned  on  the  revival  of  Gothic  architecture  —  an 
event  which  gave  unmixed  satisfaction  to  all  parties.  The  sub- 
ject would  have  died  out  almost  as  soon  as  it  was  starteci^  for 
want  of  a  difference  upon  it,  had  not  Bateman  happily  gone  on 
boldly  to  declare,  that,  if  he  had  his  will,  there  should  be  no  ar- 
chitecture in  the  English  churches  but  Gothic,  and  no  music  but 
Gregorian.  This  was  a  good  thesis,  distinctly  put,  and  gave 
scope  for  a  very  pretty  quarrel.  Reding  said,  that  all  these  ad- 
juncts of  worship,  whether  music  or  architecture,  were  national ; 
they  were  the  mode  in  which  religious  feeling  showed  itself  in 
particular  times  and  places.  He  did  not  mean  to  say  that  the 
outward  expression  of  religion  in  a  country  might  not  be  guided, 
but  it  could  not  be  forced ;  that  it  was  as  preposterous  to  make 
people  worship  in  one's  own  way,  as  to  be  merry  in  one's  own 
way.  "  The  Greeks,"  he  said,  "  cut  the  hair  in  grief,  the  Ro- 
mans let  it  grow  ;  the  Orientals  veiled  their  heads  in  worship,  the 
Greeks  uncovered  them ;  Christians  take  off  their  hats  in  a 
church,  Mahometans  their  shoes  ;  a  long  veil  is  a  sign  of  mod- 
esty in  Europe,  of  immodesty  in  Asia.  You  may  as  well  try  to 
change  the"  size  of  people,  as  their  forms  of  worship.  Bateman, 
we  must  cut  you  down  a  foot,  and  then  you  shall  begin  your 
ecclesiastical  reforms."  "  But  surely,  my  worthy  friend,"  an- 
swered Bateman,  "you  don't  mean  to  say  that  there  is  no  natural 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  163 

connection  between  internal  feeling  and  outward  expression, 
so  that  one  form  is  no  better  than  another?"  "  Far  from  it," 
answered  Charles  ;  "  but  let  those  who  confine  their  music  to 
Gregorians,  put  up  crucifixes  in  the  highways.  Each  is  the 
representative  of  a  particular  locality  or  time."  "  That's  what 
I  say  of  our  good  friend's  short  coat  and  long  cassock,"  said 
Campbell ;  "  it  is  a  confusion  of  different  times,  ancient  and  mod- 
ern." "  Or  of  different  ideas,"  said  Charles,  "the  cassock  Cath- 
olic, the  coat  Protestant."  "  The  reverse,"  said  Bateraan  ;  "  the 
cassock  is  old  Hooker's  Anglican  habit ;  the  coat  comes  from. 
Catholic  France."  "  Any  how,  it  is  what  Mr.  Reding  calls  a 
mixture  of  ideas,"  said  Campbell ;  "  and  that's  the  difficulty  I 
find  in  uniting  Gothic  and  Gregorians."  "  O,  pardon  me," 
said  Bateman,  "  they  are  one  idea  ;  they  are  both  eminently 
Catholic."  "  You  can't  be  more  Catholic  than  Rome,  I  suppose," 
said  Campbell ;  "  yet  there's  no  Gothic  there."  "  Rome  is  a 
peculiar  place,"  said  Bateman ;  "  besides,  my  dear  friend,  if  we 
do  but  consider  that  Rome  has  corrupted  the  pure  apostolic  doc- 
trine, can  we  wonder  that  it  should  have  a  corrupt  architecture  ?'* 
"  Why,  then,  go  to  it  for  Gregorians  ?"  said  Campbell ;  "  I  sus- 
pect they  are  called  after  Gregory  the  First,  Bishop  of  Rome, 
whom  Protestants  consider  the  first  specimen  of  Antichrist.'* 
"  It's  nothing  to  us  what  Protestants  think,"  answered  Bateman. 
"  Don't  let  us  quarrel  about  terms,"  said  Campbell ;  "  both  you 
and  I  think  that  Rome  has  corrupted  the  faith,  whether  she  is 
Antichrist  or  not.  You  said  so  yourself  just  now."  "  It  is  true, 
I  did,"  said  Bateman;  "but  I  make  a  little  distinction.  The 
Church  of  Rome  has  not  corrupted  the  faith,  but  has  admitted 
corruptions  among  her  people."  "  It  won't  do,"  answered  Camp- 
bell ;  "  depend  on  it,  we  can't  stand  our  ground  in  controversy, 
unless  we  in  our  hearts  think  very  painfully  of  the  Church  of 
Rome."  "  Why,  what's  Rome  to  us  ?  "  asked  Bateman  ;  "  we 
come  from  the  old  British  Church  ;  we  don't  meddle  with  Rome, 
and  we  wish  Rome  not  to  meddle  with  us,  but  she  will."  "  Well," 
said  Campbell,  "  you  but  read  a  bit  of  the  history  of  the  Refor- 
mation, and  you  will  find  that  the  doctrine  that  the  Pope  is  Anti- 
christ was  the  life  of  the  movement.  "  With  Ultra  Protestants, 
not  with  us,"  answered  Bateman.  "  Such  Ultra  Protestants  as 
the  writers  of  the  Homilies,"  said  Campbell :  "  but  I  say  again, 
I  am  not  contending  for  names ;  I  only  mean,  that  as  that  doc- 
trine was  the  life  of  the  Reformation,  so  a  belief,  which  I  have 


164  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

and  you  too,  that  there  is  something  bad,  corrupt,  perilous  in  the 
Church  of  Rome,  —  that  there  is  a  spirit  of  Antichrist  living  in 
her,  energizing  in  her,  and  ruling  her,  —  is  necessary  to  a  man's 
being  a  good  Anglican.  You  must  believe  this,  or  you  ought  to 
go  to  Rome."  "  Impossible !  my  dear  friend,"  said  Bateman ;  "  all 
our  doctrine  has  been,  that  Rome  and  we  are  sister  Churches." 
"  I  say,"  said  Campbell,  "  that  without  this  strong  repulsion,  you 
will  not  withstand  the  great  claims,  the  overcoming  attractions, 
of  the  Church  of  Rome.  She  is  our  mother,  —  O,  that  word 
*  mother  ! '  —  a  mighty  mother !  She  opens  her  arms.  0,  the 
fragrance  of  that  bosom  !  She  is  full  of  gifts,  —  I  feel  it,  I 
have  long  felt  it.  Why  don't  I  rush  into  her  arms  ?  because  I 
feel  that  she  is  ruled  by  a  spirit  which  is  not  she.  But  did  that 
distrust  of  her  go  from  me,  was  that  certainty  which  I  have  of  her 
corruption  disproved,  I  should  join  her  communion  to-morrow." 
*'  This  is  not  very  edifying  doctrine  for  Reding,"  thought  Bate- 
man. *  O,  my  good  Campbell,"  he  said,  "  you  are  paradoxical 
to-day."  "Not  a  bit  of  it,"  answered  Campbell ;  "  our  Reform- 
ers felt  that  the  only  way  in  which  they  could  break  the  tie  of 
allegiance  which  bound  us  to  Rome  was  the  doctrine  of  her  se- 
rious corruption.  And  so  it  is  with  our  divines.  If  there  is  one 
doctrine  in  which  they  agree,  it  is  that  Rome  is  Antichrist,  or  an 
Antichrist.  Depend  upon  it,  that  doctrine  is  necessary  for  our 
position." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  that  language,"  said  Reding ;  "  I 
see  it  is  used  in  various  publications.  It  implies  that  controversy 
is  a  game,  and  that  disputants  are  not  looking  out  for  truth,  but 
for  arguments."  "  You  must  not  mistake  me,  Mr.  Reding,"  an- 
swered Campbell ;  "  all  I  mean  is,  that  you  have  no  leave  to 
trifle  with  your  conviction  that  Rome  is  anti-christian,  if  you  think 
so.  For  if  it  is  so,  it  is  necessary  to  sai/  so.  A  poet  says, 
'  Speak  gently  of  our  sister's /a/Z;'  no,  if  it  is  a  fall,  we  must  not 
speak  gently  of  it.  At  first  one  says,  '  So  great  a  Church  !  who 
am  I,  to  speak  against  it  ? '  Yes,  you  must,  if  it  is  true  :  '  Tell 
truth  and  shame  the  Devil.'  Recollect  you  don't  use  your  own 
words  ;  you  are  sanctioned,  protected  by  all  our  divines.  You 
must,  else  you  can  give  no  sufficient  reason  for  not  joining  the 
Church  of  Rome.  You  must  speak  out,  not  what  you  don^t 
think,  but  what  you  do  think,  if  you  do  think  it."  "  Here's  a 
doctrine  !  "  thought  Charles ;  "  why  it's  putting  the  controversy 
into  a  nutshell."     Bateman  interposed.     "  My  dear  Campbell," 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  165 

he  said,  "  you  are  behind  the  day.  We  have  given  up  all  that 
abuse  against  Rome."  "  Then  the  party  is  not  so  clever  as  I 
give  them  credit  for  being,"  answered  Campbell ;  "  be  sure  of 
this,  —  those  who  have  given  up  their  protests  against  Rome, 
either  are  looking  towards  her,  or  have  no  eyes  to  see."  "  All 
we  say,"  answered  Bateman,  "  is,  as  I  said  before,  that  we  don't 
wish  to  interfere  with  Rome  ;  we  don't  anathematize  Rome  — 
Rome  anathematizes  us."  "  It  won't  do,"  said  Campbell ;  "  those 
who  resolve  to  remain  in  our  Church,  and  are  using  sweet  words 
of  Romanism,  will  be  forced  back  upon  their  proper  ground  in 
spite  of  themselves,  and  will  get  no  thanks  for  their  pains.  No 
man  can  serve  two  masters ;  either  go  to  Rome,  or  condemn 
Rome.  For  me,  the  Romish  Church  has  a  great  deal  in  it 
which  I  can't  get  over ;  and  thinking  so,  much  as  I  admire  it  in 
parts,  I  can't  help  speaking,  I  can't  help  it.  It  would  not  be 
honest,  and  it  would  not  be  consistent." 

"  Well,  he  has  ended  better  than  he  began,"  thought  Bateman : 
and  he  chimed  in,  "  O  yes,  true,  too  true ;  it's  painful  to  see  it, 
but  there's  a  great  deal  in  the  Church  of  Rome  which  no  man 
of  plain  sense,  no  rea'der  of  the  Fathers,  no  Scripture  student, 
no  true  member  of  the  Anglo- Catholic  Church  can  possibly 
stomach."  This  put  a  corona  on  the  discussion ;  and  the  rest 
of  the  dinner  passed  off  pleasantly  indeed,  but  not  very  intel- 
lectually. 


CHAPTER    XVI 


After  dinner,  it  occurred  to  them  that  the  subject  of  Grego- 
rians  and  Gothic  had  been  left  in  the  lurch.  "  How  in  the  world 
did  we  get  off  it  ? "  asked  Charles.  "  Well,  at  least  we  have 
found  it,'*  said  Bateman  ;  "  and  I  really  should  like  to  hear  what 
you  have  to  say  upon  it,  Campbell."  "  O,  really,  Bateman,"  an- 
swered he,  "  I  am  quite  sick  of  the  subject ;  every  one  seems  to 
me  to  be  going  into  extremes  :  what's  the  good  of  arguing  about 
it  ?  you  won't  agree  with  me."  "  I  don't  see  that  at  all,"  an- 
swered Bateman  ;  "  people  often  think  they  differ,  merely  be- 
cause they  have  not  courage  to  talk  to  each  other."  "  A  good 
remark,"  thought  Charles  ;    "  what  a  pity  that  Bateman,  with 


166  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

SO  much  sense,  should  have  so  little  common  sense  ! "  "  Well, 
then,"  said  Campbell,  "my  quarrel  with  Gothic  and  Grego- 
rians,  when  coupled  together,  is,  that  they  are  two  ideas,  not  one. 
Have  figured  music  in  Gothic  churches,  keep  your  Gregorian 
for  basilicas."  "  My  good  Campbell,"  said  Bateman,  "you  seem 
oblivious  that  Gregorian  chants  and  hymns  have  always  accom- 
panied Gothic  aisles,  Gothic  copes,  Gothic  mitres,  and  Gothic 
chalices."  "  Our  ancestors  did  what  they  could,"  answered 
Campbell;  "they  were  great  in  architecture,  small  in  music. 
They  could  not  use  what  was  not  yet  invented.  They  sang 
Gregorians  because  they  had  not  Palestrina."  "  A  paradox,  a 
paradox,"  cried  Bateman.  "  Surely  there  is  a  close  connection," 
answered  Campbell,  "  between  the  rise  and  nature  of  the  basil- 
ica and  of  Gregorian  unison.  Both  existed  before  Christianity; 
both  are  of  Pagan  origin  ;  both  were  afterwards  consecrated  to 
the  service  of  the  Church."  "  Pardon  me,"  interrupted  Bate- 
man ;  "  Gregorians  were  Jewish,  not  Pagan."  "  Be  it  so,  for 
argument's  sake,"  said  Campbell ;  "still,  at  least  they  were  not  of 
Christian  origin.  Next  the  old  music  and  the  old  architecture 
were  both  inartificial  and  limited,  as  methods  of  exhibiting  their 
respective  arts.  You  can't  have  a  large  Grecian  temple,  you 
can't  have  a  long  Gregorian  Gloria"  "  Not  a  long  one  !  "  said 
Bateman  ;  "  why  there's  poor  Willis  used  to  complain  how  te- 
dious the  old  Gregorian  compositions  were  abroad."  "  I  don't 
explain  myself,"  answered  Campbell ;  "  of  course,  you  may  pro- 
duce them  to  any  length,  but  merely  by  addition,  not  by  carry- 
ing on  the  melody.  You  can  put  two  together,  and  then  have 
one  twice  as  long  as  either.  But  I  speak  of  a  musical  piece ; 
which  must  of  course  be  the  natural  development  of  certain 
ideas,  with  one  part  depending  on  another.  In  like  manner,  you 
might  make  an  Ionic  temple  twice  as  long  and  twice  as  wide  as 
the  Parthenon  ;  but  you  would  lose  the  beauty  of  proportion  by 
doing  so.  This,  then,  is  what  I  meant  to  say  of  the  primitive 
architecture  and  the  primitive  music,  that  they  soon  come  to 
their  limit ;  they  soon  are  exhausted,  and  can  do  nothing  more. 
If  you  attempt  more,  it's  like  taxing  a  musical  instrument  beyond 
its  powers." 

"  You  but  try,  Bateman,"  said  Reding,  "  to  make  a  bass  play 
quadrilles,  and  you  will  see  what  is  meant  by  taxing  an  instru- 
ment." "  Well,  I  have  heard  Lindley  play  all  sorts  of  quick 
tunes  on  his  bass,"  said  Bateman,  "  and  most  wonderful  it  is." 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  167 

"  Wonderful's  the  right  word,"  answered  Reding ;  "  it  is  very 
wonderful.  .  You  say,  *  How  can  he  manage  it  ?  *  and  '  It's  very 
wonderful  for  a  bass  ;  '•  but  it  is  not  pleasant  in  itself.  In  like 
manner,  I  have  always  felt  a  disgust  when  Mr.  So-and-so  comes 
forward  to  make  his  sweet  flute  bleat  and  bray  like  a  hautboy ; 
it's  forcing  the  poor  thing  to  do  what  it  was  never  made  for." 
"  This  is  literally  true  as  regards  Gregorian  music,"  said  Camp- 
hell  ;  "  instruments  did  not  exist  in  primitive  times  which  could 
execute  any  other.  But  I  am  speaking  under  correction  ;  Mr. 
Reding  seems  to  know  more  about  the  subject  than  I  do."  "  I 
have  always  understood  as  you  say,"  answered  Charles  ;  "  mod- 
ern music  did  not  come  into  existence  till  after  the  powers  of  the 
violin  became  known.  Corelli  himself,  who  wrote  not  two  hun- 
dred years  ago,  hardly  ventures  on  the  shift.  The  piano,  again,  I 
have  heard,  has  almost  given  birth  to  Beethoven."  "  Modern 
music,  then,  could  not  be  in  ancient  times,  for  want  of  modern 
instruments,"  said  Campbell ;  "  and,  in  like  manner,  Gothic  ar- 
chitecture could  not  exist  until  vaulting  was  brought  to  perfec- 
tion. Great  mechanical  inventions  have  taken  place,  both  in  ar- 
chitecture and  in  music,  since  the  age  of  basilicas  and  Gregori- 
ans  ;  and  each  science  has  gained  by  it."  "  It  is  curious  enough," 
said  Reding,  "  one  thing  I  have  been  accustomed  to  say,  quite 
falls  in  with  this  view  of  yours.  When  people,  who  are  not 
musicians,  have  accused  Handel  and  Beethoven  of  not  being 
simple,  I  have  always  said,  '  Is  Gothic  architecture  simple  ?  '  A 
cathedral  expresses  one  idea,  but  is  indefinitely  varied  and  elab- 
orated in  its  parts  ;  so  is  a  symphony  or  quartet  of  Beethoven's." 

"  Certainly,  Bateman,  you  must  tolerate  Pagan  architecture, 
or  you  must  in  consistency  exclude  Pagan  or  Jewish  Gregorians," 
said  Campbell ;  "  you  must  tolerate  figured  music,  or  reprobate 
tracery  windows."  "  And  which  are  you  for,"  asked  Bateman  ; 
"  Gothic  with  Handel,  or  Roman  with  Gregorians  ?  "  "  For  both 
in  their  place,"  answered  Campbell.  "  I  exceedingly  prefer 
Gothic  architecture  to  classical.  I  think  it  the  one  true  child 
and  development  of  Christianity ;  but  I  won't,  for  that  reason, 
discard  the  Pagan  style  which  has  been  sanctified  by  eighteen 
centuries,  by  the  exclusive  love  of  many  Christian  countries,  and 
by  the  sanction  of  a  host  of  saints.  I  am  for  toleration.  Give 
Gothic  an  ascendency  ;  be  respectful  towards  classical." 

The  conversation  slackened.  "  Much  as  I  like  modern  music,** 
said  Charles,  "  I  can't  quite  go  the  length  to  which  your  doctrine 


168  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

^ 

would  lead  me.  I  cannot,  indeed,  help  liking  Mozart ;  but  surely 
his  music  is  not  religious."  "  I  have  not  been  speaking  in  defence 
of  particular  composers,"  said  Campbell ;  "  figured  music  may 
be  right,  yet  Mozart  or  Beethoven  inadmissible.  In  like  man- 
ner, you  don't  suppose,  because  I  tolerate  Roman  architecture, 
that  therefore  I  like  naked  cupids  to  stand  for  cherubs,  and 
sprawling  women  for  the  cardinal  virtues."  He  paused :  "  Be- 
sides," he  added,  as  you  were  saying  yourself  just  now,  we  must 
consult  the  genius  of  our  country,  and  the  religious  associations 
of  our  people."  "  Well,"  said  Bateman,  "  I  think  the  perfection 
of  sacred  music  is  Gregorian  set  to  harmonies  ;  there  you  have 
the  glorious  old  chants,  and  just  a  little  modern  richness."  "And 
I  think  it  just  the  worst  of  all,"  answered  Campbell ;  "  it  is  a 
mixture  of  two  things,  each  good  in  itself,  and  incongruous  to- 
gether. It's  a  mixture  of  the  first  and  second  courses  at  table. 
It's  like  the  architecture  of  the  fa§ade  at  Milan,  half  Gothic, 
half  Grecian."  "It's  what  is  always  used,  I  believe,"  said 
Charles.  "  O,  yes,  we  must  not  go  against  the  age,"  said  Camp- 
bell :  "  it  would  be  absurd  to  do  so.  I  only  spoke  of  what  was 
right  and  wrong  on  abstract  principles  ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I 
can't  help  liking  the  mixture  myself,  though  I  can't  defend  it." 

Bateman  rang  for  tea ;  his  friends  wished  toreturn  home  soon ; 
it  was  the  month  of  January,  and  no  season  for  after-dinner  strolls. 
"  Well,"  he  said,  "  Campbell,  you  are  more  lenient  to  the  age  than 
to  me ;  you  yield  to  the  age  when  it  sets  a  figured  bass  to  a  Gre- 
gorian tone ;  but  you  laugh  at  me  for  setting  a  coat  upon  a  cas- 
sock." "  It's  no  honor  to  be  the  author  of  a  mixed  type,"  said 
Campbell.  "  A  mixed  type  ?  "  said  Bateman  ;  "  rather  it  is  a 
transition  state."  "  What  are  you  passing  to .''  "  asked  Charles. 
"  Talking  of  transitions,"  said  Campbell ;  "  do  you  know  that 
your  man  Willis  —  I  don't  know  his  college,  he  turned  Roman- 
ist —  is  living  in  my  parish,  and  I  have  hopes  he  is  making  a 
transition  back  again."  "  Have  you  seen  him  ?  "  said  Charles. 
"  No ;  I  have  called,  but  was  unfortunate  ;  he  was  out.  He  still 
goes  to  mass,  I  find."  "  Why,  where  does  he  find  a  chapel  ?  " 
asked  Bateman.  "  At  Seaton."  "  A  good  seven  miles  from 
you,"  said  Charles.  "  Yes,"  answered  Campbell ;  "  and  he  walks 
to  and  fro  every  Sunday."  "  That  is  not  like  a  transition,  except 
a  physical  one,"  observed  Reding.  "  A  person  must  go  some- 
where," answered  Campbell ;  "  I  suppose  he  went  to  church  up 
to    the  week  he  joined  the   Romanists."     "  Very  awful,  these 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  160 

defections,"  said  Bateman ;  "but  very  satisfactory,  a  melancholy 
satisfaction,"  with  a  look  at  Charles,  "  that  the  victims  of  delu- 
sions should  be  at  length  recovered."  "  Yes,"  said  Campbell ; 
"  very  sad  indeed.  I  am  afraid  we  must  expect  a  number  more." 
"  Well,  I  don't  know  how  to  think  it,"  said  Charles ;  "  the 
hold  our  Church  has  on  the  mind  is  so  powerful ;  it  is  such  a 
wrench  to  leave  it,  I  cannot  fancy  any  party  tie  standing  against 
it.  Humanly  speaking,  there  is  far,  far  more  to  keep  them  fast 
than  to  carry  them  away."  "  Yes,  if  they  moved  as  a  party," 
said  Campbell ;  "  but  that  is  not  the  case.  They  don't  move 
simply  because  others  move,  but,  poor  fellows,  because  they  can't 
help  it.  (Bateman,  will  you  let  my  chaise  be  brought  round  ?) 
How  can  they  help  it  ?  "  continued  he,  standing  up  over  the  fire ; 
"  their  Catholic  principles  lead  them  on,  and  there's  nothing  to 
repel  them  back."  "  Why  should  not  their  love  for  their  own 
Church?"  asked  Bateman;  "it  is  deplorable,  unpardonable." 
"  They  will  keep  going  one  after  another,  as  they  ripen,"  said 
Campbell.  "  Did  you  hear  the  report — I  did  not  think  much 
of  it  myself,"  said  Reding  —  "  that  Smith  was  moving  ?  "  "  Not 
impossible,"  answered  Campbell,  thoughtfully.  "  Impossible, 
quite  impossible,"  cried  Bateman  ;  "  such  a  triumph  to  the  ene- 
my ;  I'll  not  believe  it  till  I  see  it."  "  Not  impossible,"  repeated 
Campbell,  as  he  buttoned  and  fitted  his  greatcoat  about  him ; 
"  he  has  shifted  his  ground."  His  carriage  was  announced. 
"  Mr.  Reding,  I  believe  I  can  take  you  part  of  your  way,  if  you 
will  accept  of  a  seat  in  my  pony  chaise."  Charles  accepted  the 
offer  J  and  Bateman  was  soon  deserted  by  his  two  guests. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

Campbell  put  Charles  down  about  half  way  between  Melford 
and  his  home.  It  was  bright  moonhght ;  and,  after  thanking  his 
new  friend  for  the  lift,  he  bounded  over  the  stile  at  the  side  of 
the  road,  and  was  at  once  buried  in  the  shade  of  the  copse  along 
which  his  path  lay.  Soon  he  came  in  sight  of  a  tall  wooden 
Cross,  which,  in  better  days,  had  been  a  religious  emblem,  but 
had  served  in  latter  times  to  mark  the  boundary  between  two 
15 


170  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

contiguous  parishes.  The  moon  was  behind  him,  and  the  sacred 
symbol  rose  awfully  in  the  pale  sky,  overhanging  a  pool,  which 
was  still  venerated  in  the  neighborhood  for  its  reported  miracu- 
lous virtue.  Charles,  to  his  surprise,  saw  distinctly  a  man  kneel- 
ing on  the  little  mound  out  of  which  the  Cross  grew  ;  nay,  heard 
him,  for  his  shoulders  were  bare,  and  he  was  using  the  discipline 
upon  them,  while  he  repeated  what  appeared  to  be  some  form  of 
devotion.  Charles  stopped,  unwilling  to  interrupt,  yet  not  know- 
ing how  to  pass  ;  but  the  stranger  had  caught  the  sound  of  feet, 
and  in  a  few  seconds  vanished  from  his  view.  He  was  overcome 
with  a  sudden  emotion,  which  he  could  not  control.  "  O  happy 
times,"  he  cried,  "  when  faith  was  one  !  O  blessed  penitent, 
whoever  you  are,  who  know  what  to  believe,  and  how  to  gain 
pardon,  and  can  begin  where  others  end !  Here  am  I,  in  my 
twenty-third  year,  uncertain  about  every  thing,  because  I  have 
nothing  to  trust."  He  drew  near  to  the  Cross,  took  oflf  his  hat, 
knelt  down  and  kissed  the  wood,  and  prayed  a  while,  that,  what- 
ever might  be  the  consequences,  whatever  the  trial,  whatever  the 
loss,  he  might  have  grace  to  follow  whithersoever  God  should 
call  him.  He  then  rose  and  turned  to  the  cold  well ;  he  took 
some  water  in  his  palm  and  drank  it.  He  felt  as  if  he  could 
have  prayed  to  the  Saint  who  owned  that  pool  —  St.  Thomas  the 
Martyr,  he  beheved  —  to  plead  for  him,  and  to  aid  him  in  his 
search  after  the  true  faith ;  but  something  whispered,  "  It  is 
wrong ; "  and  he  checked  the  wish.  So,  regaining  his  hat,  he 
passed  away,  and  pursued  his  homeward  path  at  a  brisk  pace. 

The  family  had  retired  for  the  night,  and  he  went  up  without 
delay  to  his  bed  room.  Passing  through  his  study,  he  found  a 
letter  lying  on  his  table,  without  postmark,  which  had  come  for 
him  in  his  absence.  He  broke  the  seal ;  it  was  an  anonymous 
paper,  and  began  as  follows :  — 

"  Questions  for  one  whom  it  concerns. 

"  1.  What  is  meant  by  the  One  Church  of  which  the  Creed 
speaks  ?  " 

"  This  is  too  much  for  to-night,"  thought  Charles,  "  it  is  late 
already  ; "  and  he  folded  it  up  again,  and  threw  it  on  his  dress- 
ing table.  "  Some  well-meaning  person,  I  dare  say,  who  thinks 
he  knows  me."  He  wound  up  his  watch,  gave  a  yawn,  and  put 
on  his  slippers.     "  Who  can  there  be  in   this  neighborhood  to 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  171 

write  it  ?  ^'  He  opened  it  again.  "  It's  certainly  a  Catholic's 
writing,"  he  said.  His  mind  glanced  to  the  person  whom  he 
had  seen  under  the  Cross ;  perhaps  it  glanced  farther.  He  sat 
down,  and  began  reading  in  extenso :  — 

"  Questions  for  one  whom  it  concerns. 

1.  What  is  meant   by  the  One  Church  of  which   the  Creed 

speaks  ? 

2.  Is  it  a  generalization  or  a  thing  ? 

3.  Does  it  belong  to  past  history  or  to  the  present  time  ? 

4.  Does  not  Scripture  speak  of  it  as  a  kingdom  ? 

5.  And  a  kingdom  which  was  to  last  to  the  end  ? 

6.  What  is  a  kingdom  ?  and  what  is  meant  when  Scripture 

calls  the  Church  a  kingdom  ? 

7.  Is  it  a  visible  kingdom,  or  an  invisible  ? 

8.  Can  a  kingdom  have  two  governments,  and  these  acting  in 

contrary  directions  ? 

9.  Is  indentity  of  institutions,  opinions,  or  race,  sufficient  to 

make  two  nations  one  kingdom  ? 

10.  Is  the   Episcopal   form,  the  hierarchy,  or   the  Apostles' 

Creed,  sufficient  to  make  the  Churches  of  Rome  and 
of  England  one  ? 

11.  Where  there  are  parts,  does  not  unity  require  union,  and 

a  visible  unity  require  a  visible  union  ? 

12.  How  can  two  religions  be  the  same,  which  have  utterly 

distinct  worships  and  ideas  of  worship  ? 

13.  Can  two  religions  be  one,  if  the  most  sacred  and  peculiar 

act  of  worship  in   the  one  is    called   *  a  blasphemous 
fable  and  dangerous  deceit '  in  the  other  ? 

14.  Has  not  the  One  Church  of  Christ  one  faith  ? 

15.  Can  a  Church  be  Christ's  which  has  not  one  faith  ? 

1 6.  What  is  contradictory  to  itself  in  its  documents  ? 

17.  And  in  diffisrent  centuries  ? 

18.  And  in  its  documents  contrasted  with  its  divines? 

19.  And  in  its  divines  and  members  one  with  another? 

20.  What  is  the  faith  of  the  English  Church  ? 

21.  How  many  Councils  does  the  English  Church  admit  ? 

22.  Does  the  English  Church  consider  the  present  Nestorian 

and  Jacobite  Churches  under  an  anathema,  or  part  of 
the  visible  Church  ? 


172  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

23.  Is  it  necessary,  or  possible,  to  believe  any  one   but  a 

professed  messenger  from  God  ? 

24.  Is  the  English  Church,  does  she  claim  to  be,  a  messenger 

from  God  ? 

25.  Does  she  impart  the  truth,  or  bid  us  seek  it  ? 

26.  If  she  leave  us  to  seek  it,  do  members  of  the  English 

Church  seek  it  with  that  earnestness  which  Scripture 
enjoins  ? 

27.  Is  a  person  safe  who  lives  without  faith,  even  though  he 

seems  to  have  hope  and  charity  ?  " 

Charles  got  very  sleepy  before  he  reached  the  "twenty- 
seventhly."  "  It  won't  do,"  he  said ;  "  I  am  only  losing  my 
time.  They  seem  well  put ;  but  they  must  stand  over."  He 
put  the  paper  from  him,  said  his  prayers,  and  was  soon  fast  asleep. 

Next  morning,  on  waking,  the  subject  of  the  letter  came  into 
his  mind,  and  he  lay  for  some  time  thinking  over  it.  "  Cer- 
tainly," he  said,  "  I  do  wish  very  much  to  be  settled  either  in 
the  English  Church,  or  somewhere  else.  I  wish  I  knew  what 
Christianity  was ;  I  am  ready  to  be  at  pains  to  seek  it,  and 
would  accept  it  eagerly  and  thankfully  if  found.  But  it's  a 
work  of  time ;  all  the  paper  arguments  in  the  world  are  unequal 
to  giving  one  a  view  in  a  moment.  There  must  be  a  process ; 
they  may  shorten  it,  as  medicine  shortens  physical  processes, 
but  they  can't  supersede  its  necessity.  I  recollect  how  all  my 
religious  doubts  and  theories  went  to  flight  on  my  dear  father's 
death.  They  weren't  part  of  me,  and  could  not  sustain  rough 
weather.  Conviction  is  the  eyesight  of  the  mind,  not  a  conclu- 
sion from  premises  ;  God  works  it,  and  His  works  are  slow. 
At  least  so  it  is  with  me.  I  can't,  believe  on  a  sudden ;  if  I 
attempt  it,  I  shall  be  using  words  for  things,  and  be  sure  to 
repent  it.  Or  if  not,  I  shall  go  right  merely  by  hazard.  I 
must  move  in  what  seems  God's  way ;  I  can  but  put  myself  on 
the  road;  a  higher  power  must  overtake  me,  and  carry  me 
forward.  At  present  I  have  a  direct  duty  upon  me,  which  my 
dear  father  left  me,  to  take  a  good  class.  This  is  the  path  of 
duty.  I  won't  put  off  the  inquiry,  but  I'll  let  it  proceed  in  that 
path.  God  can  bless  my  reading  to  my  spiritual  illumination  as 
well  as  any  thing  else.  Saul  sought  his  uncle's  asses,  and  found 
a  kingdom.     All  in  good  time.     When  I  have  taken  my  degree 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  178 

the  subject  will  properly  come  on  me."  He  sighed.  "  My 
degree  !  those  odious  Articles !  rather,  when  I  have  passed  my 
examination.  Well,  it's  no  good  lying  here  ; "  and  he  jumped 
up  und  signed  himself  with  the  Cross.  His  eye  caught  the  let- 
ter. "  It's  well  written  —  better  than  Willis  could  write  ;  it's 
not  Willis's.  There's  something  about  that  Willis  I  don't  un- 
derstand. I  wonder  how  he  and  his  mother  get  on  together.  I 
don't  think  he  has  any  sisters." 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

Campbell  had  been  much  pleased  with  Charles,  and  his  in- 
terest in  him  was  not  lessened  by  a  hint  from  Bateman,  that  his 
alliance  to  the  English  Church  was  in  danger.  He  called  on 
him  in  no  long  time,  asked  him  to  dinner ;  and  when  Charles 
had  returned  his  invitation,  and  Campbell  had  accepted  it,  the 
beginning  of  an  acquaintance  was  formed  between  the  rectory 
at  Sutton  and  the  family  at  Boughton,  which  grew  into  an  in- 
timacy as  time  went  on.  Campbell  was  a  gentleman,  a  travelled 
man,  of  clear  head  and  ardent  mind,  candid,  well  read  in  Eng- 
lish divinity,  a  devoted  Anglican,  and  the  incumbent  of  a  living 
so  well  endowed  as  almost  to  be  a  dignity.  Mary  was  pleased 
at  the  introduction,  as  bringing  her  brother  under  the  influence 
of  an  intellect  which  he  could  not  make  light  of;  and,  as  Camp- 
bell had  a  carriage,  it  was  natural  that  he  should  wish  to  save 
Charles  the  loss  of  a  day's  reading  and  the  trouble  of  a  muddy 
walk  to  the  rectory  and  back  by  coming  over  himself  to  Bough- 
ton.  Accordingly  it  so  happened  that  he  saw  Charles  twice  at 
his  mother's  for  once  that  he  saw  him  at  Sutton.  But  whatever 
came  of  these  visits,  nothing  occurred  which  particularly  bears 
upon  the  line  of  our  narrative ;  so  let  them  pass. 

One  day  Charles  called  upon  Bateman,  and,  on  entering  the 
room,  was  surprised  to  see  him  and  Campbell  at  luncheon,  and 
in  conversation  with  a  third  person.  There  was  a  moment's 
surprise  and  hesitation  on  seeing  him,  before  they  rose  and 
welcomed  him  as  usual.  When  he  looked  at  the  stranger,  he 
felt  a  slight  awkwardness  himself,  which  he  could  not  control. 
15* 


174  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

It  was  Willis ;  and  apparently  submitted  to  the  process  of  re- 
conversion. Charles  was  evidently  de  trop^  but  there  was  no 
help  for  it ;  so  he  shook  hands  with  Willis,  and  accepted  the 
pressing  call  of  Bateman  to  seat  himself  at  table,  and  to  share 
their  bread  and  cheese. 

Charles  sat  down  opposite  Willis,  and  for  a  while  could  not 
keep  his  eyes  from  him.  At  first  he  had  some  difficulty  in  be- 
lieving he  had  before  him  the  impetuous  youth  he  had  known 
two  years  and  a  half  before.  He  had  always  been  silent  in  gen- 
eral company ;  but  in  that  he  was  changed,  as  in  every  thing 
else.  Not  that  he  talked  more  than  was  natural,  but  he  talked 
freely  and  easily.  The  great  change,  however,  was  in  his  ap- 
pearance and  manner.  He  had  lost  his  bloom  and  youthful- 
ness ;  his  expression  was  sweeter  indeed  than  before,  and  very 
placid,  but  there  was  a  thin  line  down  his  face  on  each  side  of 
his  mouth ;  his  cheeks  were  wanting  in  fulness,  and  he  had  the 
air  of  a  man  of  thirty.  When  he  entered  into  conversation,  and 
became  animated,  his  former  self  returned. 

"  I  suppose  we  may  all  admire  this  cream  at  this  season,"  said 
Charles,  as  he  helped  himself,  "  for  we  are  none  of  us  Devon- 
shire men."  "  It's  not  peculiar  to  Devonshire,"  answered  Camp- 
bell ;  "  that  is,  they  have  it  abroad.  At  Rome  there  is  a  sort  of 
cream  or  cheese  very  like  it,  and  very  common."  "  Will  butter 
and  cream  keep  in  so  warm  a  climate  ?  "  asked  Charles ;  "  I  fan- 
cied oil  was  the  substitute."  "  Rome  is  not  so  warm  as  you  fan- 
cy," said  Willis,  "  except  during  the  summer."  "  Oil  ?  so  it  is," 
said  Campbell ;  "  thus  we  read  in  Scripture  of  the  multiplication 
of  the  oil  and  meal,  which  seems  to  answer  to  bread  and  butter. 
The  oil  in  Rome  is  excellent,  so  clear  and  pale;  you  can  eat  it  as 
milk."  "  The  taste,  I  suppose,  is  peculiar,"  observed  Charles. 
"Just  at  first,"  answered  Campbell;  "but  one  soon  gets  used  to 
it.  All  such  substances,  milk,  butter,  cheese,  oil,  have  a  partic- 
ular taste  at  first,  which  use  alone  gets  over.  The  rich  Guernsey 
butter  is  too  much  for  strangers,  while  Russians  relish  whale  oil. 
Most  of  our  tastes  are  in  a  measure  artificial."  "  It  is  certainly 
so  with  vegetables,"  said  WiUis  ;  "  when  I  was  a  boy,  I  could 
not  eat  beans,  spinach,  asparagus,  parsnips,  and  I  think  some 
others."  "  Therefore  your  hermit's  fare  is  not  only  the  most 
natural,  but  the  only  naturally  palatable,  I  suppose,  —  a  crust  of 
bread  and  a  draught  from  the  stream,"  replied  Campbell.  "  Or 
the   Clerk  of  Copmanhurst's   dry  peas,"  said    Charles.     "The 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  175 

macaroni  and  grapes  of  the  Neapolitans  are  as  natural  and  more 
palatable,"  said  Willis.  "  Rather  they  are  a  luxury/'  said  Bate- 
man.  "  No,"  answered  Campbell,  "  not  a  luxury ;  a  luxury  is 
in  its  very  idea  a  something  recherche.  Thus  Horace  speaks  of 
the  ^  peregrina  lagois'  What  nature  yields  sponte  sua  around 
you,  however  delicious,  is  no  luxury.  Wild  ducks  are  no  luxury 
in  your  old  neighborhood,  amid  your  Oxford  fens,  Bateman ; 
nor  grapes  at  Naples."  "  Then  the  old  women  here  are  luxuri- 
ous over  their  sixpenn'rth  of  tea,"  said  Bateman  ;  "  for  it  comes 
from  China."  Campbell  was  posed  for  an  instant.  Somehow 
neither  he  nor  Bateman  were  quite  at  their  ease,  whether  with 
themselves- or  with  each  other  ;  it  might  be  Charles's  sudden  in- 
trusion, or  something  which  had  happened  before  it.  Campbell 
answered  at  length  that  steamers  and  railroads  were  making 
strange  changes ;  that  time  and  place  were  vanishing,  and  price 
would  soon  be  the  only  measure  of  luxury. 

"  This  seems  the  measure  also  of  grasso  and  magro  food  in 
Italy,"  said  Willis  ;  "  for,  I  think  there  are  dispensations  for 
butcher's  meat  in  Lent,  in  consequence  of  the  dearness  of  bread 
and  oil."  "  This  seems  to  show  that  the  age  for  abstinences  and 
fastings  is  past,"  observed  Campbell;  "for  it's  absurd  to  keep 
Lent  on  beef  and  mutton."  "  0,  Campbell,  what  are  you  say- 
ing ?  "  cried  Bateman ;  "  past !  are  we  bound  by  their  lax  ways 
in  Italy  ?  "  "I  do  certainly  think,"  answered  Campbell,  "  that 
fasting  is  unsuitable  to  this  age,  in  England  as  well  as  in  Rome." 
"  Take  care,  my  fine  fellows,"  thought  Charles  ;  "  keep  your 
ranks,  or  you  won't  secure  your  prisoner."  "  What,  not  fast  on 
Friday  ! "  cried  Bateman ;  "  we  always  did  so  most  rigidly  at 
Oxford."  "  It  does  you  credit,"  answered  Campbell ;  "  but  I  am 
of  Cambridge."  "  But  what  do  you  say  to  Rubrics  and  the  Cal- 
endar ?  "  insisted  Bateman.  "  They  are  not  binding,"  answered 
Campbell.  "  They  are  binding,"  said  Bateman.  A  pause,  as 
between  the  rounds  of  a  boxing  match.  Reding  interposed : 
"Bateman,  cut  me,  please,  a  bit  of  your  capital  bread — home- 
made, I  suppose  ?  "  "A  thousand  pardons  ! "  said  Bateman  :  — 
"  not  binding  ?  —  Pass  it  to  him,  Willis,  if  you  please.  Yes,  it 
comes  from  a  farmer,  next  door.  I'm  glad  you  like  it.  I  repeat, 
they  are  binding,  Campbell."  "  An  odd  sort  of  binding,  when 
they  have  never  bound,"  answered  Campbell ;  "  they  have  exist- 
ed two  or  three  hundred  years ;  when  were  they  ever  put  in 
force  ?  "     "  But  there  they  are,"  said  Bateman,  "  in  the  Prayer 


176  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

book."  "  Yes,  and  there  let  them  lie,  and  never  get  out  of  it,'* 
retorted  Campbell ;  "  there  thej  will  stay  till  the  end  of  story." 
"  O,  for  shame  !  "  cried  Bateman  ;  "  you  should  aid  your  mother 
in  a  difficulty,  and  not  be  like  the  priest  and  4he  Levite."  "  My 
mother  does  not  wish  to  be  aided,"  continued  Campbell.  "  O, 
how  you  talk  !  What  shall  I  do  ?  What  can  be  done  ?  "  cried 
poor  Bateman.  "  Done  !  nothing,"  said  Campbell ;  "  is  there  no 
such  thing  as  the  desuetude  of  a  law  ?  Does  not  a  law  cease  to 
be  binding  when  it  is  not  enforced  ?  I  appeal  to  Mr.  Willis." 
Willis,  thus  addressed,  answered  that  he  was  no  moral  theologian,  ■ 
but  he  had  attended  some  schools ;  and  he  believed  it  was  the 
Catholic  rule,  that  when  a  law  had  been  promulgated,  and  was 
not  observed  by  the  majority,  if  the  legislator  knew  the  state  of 
the  case,  and  yet  kept  silence,  he  was  considered  ipso  facto  to  re- 
voke it.  "  What !  "  said  Bateman  to  Campbell,  "  do  you  appeal 
to  the  Romish  Church  ?  "  "  No,"  answered  Campbell ;  "  I  appeal 
to  the  whole  Catholic  Church,  of  which  the  Church  of  Rome 
happens  in  this  particular  case  to  be  the  exponent.  It  is  plain 
common  sense,  that  if  a  law  is  not  enforced,  at  length  it  ceases 
to  be  binding.  Else  it  would  be  quite  a  tyranny ;  we  should  not 
know  where  we  were.  The  Church  of  Rome  does  but  give  ex- 
pression to  this  common-sense  view."  "  Well  then,"  said  Bate- 
man, "  I  will  appeal  to  the  Church  of  Rome  too.  Rome  is  part 
of  the  Catholic  Church  as  well  as  we ;  since,  then,  the  Romish 
Church  has  ever  kept  up  fastings,  the  ordinance  is  not  abolished  ; 
the  'greater  part'  of  the  CathoHc  Church  has  always  observed 
it."  "  But  it  has  not,"  said  Campbell ;  "  it  now  dispenses  with 
fasts,  as  you  have  heard." 

Willis  interposed  to  ask  a  question.  "  Do  you  mean,  then," 
he  said  to  Bateman,  "  that  the  Church  of  England  and  the  Church 
of  Rome  make  one  Church  ? "  "  Most  certainly,"  answered 
Bateman.  "  Is  it  possible  ?  "  said  WiUis  ;  "  in  what  sense  of  the 
word  owe?"  "  In  every  sense,"  answered  Bateman,  "but  that 
of  intercommunion."  "  That  is,  I  suppose,"  said  Willis,  "  they 
are  one,  except  that  they  have  no  intercourse  with  each  other." 
Bateman  assented.  Willis  continued  :  "  No  intercourse  ;  that  is, 
no  social  dealings,  no  consulting  or  arranging,  no  ordering  and 
obeying,  no  mutual  support ;  in  short,  no  visible  union."  Bate- 
man still  assented.  "  Well,  that  is  my  difficulty,"  said  Willis  ; 
"  I  can't  understand  how  two  parts  can  make  up  one  visible  body, 
if  they  are  not  visibly  united ;  unity  implies  union''     "  I  don't 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  177 

see  that  at  all,"  said  Bateman ;  "  I  don't  see  that  at  all.  No, 
Willis,  you  must  not  expect  I  shall  give  that  up  to  you  ;  it  is  one 
of  our  points.  There  is  only  on£  visible  Church,  and  therefore 
the  English  and  Romish  ChurchS  are  both  parts  of  it." 

Campbell  saw  clearly  that  Bateman  had  got  into  a  difficulty, 
and  he  came  to  the  rescue  in  his  own  way.  '*We  must  distin- 
guish," he  said,  "  the  state  of  the  case  more  exactly.  A  king- 
dom may  be  divided,  it  may  be  distracted  by  parties,  by  dissen- 
sions, yet  be  still  a  kingdom.  That,  I  conceive,  is  the  real  con- 
dition of  the  Church;  in  this  way  the  Churches  of  England, 
Kome,  and  Greece  are  one."  "I  suppose  you' will  grant,"  said 
Willis,  "  that  in  proportion  as  a  rebellion  is  strong,  so  is  the  unity 
of  the  kingdom  threatened ;  and  if  a  rebellion  is  successful,  or 
if  the  parties  in  a  civil  war  manage  to  divide  the  power  and  ter- 
ritory between  them,  then  forthwith,  instead  of  one  kingdom,  we 
have  two.  Ten  or  fifteen  years  since  Belgium  was  part  of  the 
kingdom  of  the  Netherlands  ;  I  suppose  you  would  not  call  it 
part  of  the  kingdom  now  ?  This  seems  the  case  of  the  Churches 
of  Rome  and  England."  "  Still,  a  kingdom  may  be  in  a  state  of 
decay,"  replied  Campbell ;  "  consider  the  case  of  the  Turkish 
Empire  at  this  moment.  The  union  between  its  separate  por- 
tions is  so  languid,  that  each  separate  Pacha  may  also  be  termed 
a  separate  sovereign  ;  still  it  is  one  kingdom."  "  The  Church, 
then,  at  present,"  said  Willis,  "is  a  kingdom  tending  to  dissolu- 
tion ?  "  "  Certainly  it  is,", answered  Campbell.  "  And  will  ulti- 
mately fail  ?  "  asked  Willis.  "  Certainly,"  said  Campbell;  "  when 
the  end  comes,  according  to  our  Lord's  saying,  *  When  the  Son 
of  man  cometh,  shall  He  find  faith  on  the  earth  ?  '  just  as  in  the 
case  of  the  chosen  people,  the  sceptre  failed  from  Judah  when 
the  Shiloh  came."  "  Surely  the  Church  has  failed  already  before 
the  end,"  said  Willis,  "  according^jtp  the  view  you  take  of  failing. 
How  can  any  separation  be  more  cong^plete  than  exists  at  present 
between  Rome,  Greece,  and  England  ?  "  "  They  might  excom- 
municate each  other,"  said  Campbell.  "  Then  you  are  willing," 
said  Willis,  "  to  assign  beforehand  something  definite,  the  occur- 
rence of  which  will  constitute  a  real  separation."  "  Don't  do 
so,"  said  Reding  to  Campbell ;  "  it  is  dangerous ;  don't  commit 
yourself  in  a  moral  question ;  for  then,  if  the  thing  specified  did 
occur,  it  would  be  difficult  to  see  our  way."  "  No,"  said  Willis  ; 
"  you  certainly  would  be  in  a  difficulty  ;  but  you  would  find  your 
way  out,  I  know.     In  that  case  you  would  choose  some  other 


178  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

idttmahim  as  your  test  of  schism.  There  would  be,"  he  added, 
speaking  with  some  emotion,  *' '  in  the  lowest  depth  a  lower  still.'*  ** 

The  concluding  words  were  out  of  keeping  with  the  tone  of 
the  conversation  hitherto,  and  fairly  excited  Bateman,  who,  for 
some  time,  had  been  an  impatient  listener.  '•  That's  a  dangerous 
line,  Campbell,"  he  said,  "  it  is  indeed  :  I  can't  go  along  with  you. 
It  will  never  do  to  say  that  the  Church  is  failing;  no,  it  never 
fails.  It  is  always  strong,  and  pure,  and  perfect,  as  the  Prophets 
describe  it.  Look  at  its  cathedrals,  abbey  churches,  and  other 
sanctuaries,  these  fitly  typify  it."  "  My  dear  Bateman,"  answered 
Campbell,  '•  I  am  as  willing  as  you  to  maintain  the  fulfilment  of 
the  prophecies  made  to  the  Church,  but  we  must  allow  the  fact 
that  the  branches  of  the  Church  are  divided,  while  we  maintain 
the  doctrine  that  the  Church  should  be  one."  '•  I  don't  see  that 
at  all,"  answered  Bateman ;  "  no,  we  need  not  allow  it.  There's 
no  such  thing  as  Churches,  there's  but  one  church  every  where, 
and  it  is  not  divided.  It  is  merely  the  outward  forms,  appear- 
ances, manifestations  of  the  Church  that  are  divided.  The 
Church  is  one  as  much  as  ever  it  was.  Just  as  in  the  Conse- 
crated Bread,  the  material  substance  is  broken,  but  the  Presence 
of  Christ  remains  one  and  the  same."  "  That  will  never  do," 
said  Campbell ;  and  he  stood  up  before  the  fire  in  a  state  of  dis- 
comfort. '•  Nature  never  intended  you  for  a  controversialist,  my 
good  Bateman,"  he  added  to  himself.  "  It  is  as  I  thought,"  said 
Willis ;  ''  Bateman,  you  are  describing  an  invisible  Church. 
You  hold  the  indefectibility  of  the  invisible  Church,  not  of  the 
visible." 

"  They  are  in  a  fix,"  thought  Charles,  -  but  I  will  do  my  best 
to  tow  old  Bateman  out ; "  so  he  began :  "  No,"  he  said,  "  Bate- 
man only  means,  that  one  Church  presents,  in  some  particular 
point,  a  different  appearance  from  another ;  but  it  does  not  fol- 
low that,  in  fact,  they  have  not  a  visible  agreement  too.  Ail  dif- 
ference implies  agreement ;  the  English  and  Eoman  Churches 
agree  visibly  and  differ  visibly.  Think  of  the  difierent  styles  of 
architecture,  and  you  will  see,  Willis,  what  he  means.  A  church 
is  a  church  all  the  world  over,  it  is  visibly  one  and  the  same,  and 
yet  how  difierent  is  church  from  church!  Our  churches  are 
Gothic,  the  southern  churches  are  Palladian.  How  different  is  a 
basilica  from  York  Cathedral !  yet  they  visibly  agree  together. 
No  one  would  mistake  either  for  a  mosque  or  a  Jewish  temple. 
We  may  quarrel  which  is  the  better  style ;  one  likes  the  basilica, 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  179 

another  calls  it  pagan."  « That  /  do/'  said  Bateman.  "  A 
little  extreme,"  said  Campbell,  "a  little  extreme,  as  usual.  The 
basihca  is  beautiful  in  its  place.  There  are  two  things  which 
Gothic  cannot  show  —  the  line  or  forest  of  round  polished  col- 
umns, and  the  graceful  dome,  circHng  above  one's  head  like  the 
blue  heaven  itself." 

All  parties  were  glad  of  this  diversion  from  the  religious  dis- 
pute ;  so  they  continued  the  hghter  conversation  which  had  suc- 
ceeded it  with  considerable  earnestness.  "  I  fear  I  must  confess," 
said  Willis,  "  that  the  churches  at  Rome  do  not  affect  me  like 
the  Gothic ;  I  reverence  them,  I  feel  awe  in  them,  but  I  love,  I 
feel  a  sensible  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  the  Gothic  arch."  "  There 
are  other  reasons  for  that  in  Rome,"  said  Campbell  ;  "^  the 
churches  are  so  unfinished,  so  untidy.  Rome  is  a  city  of  ruins  ; 
the  Christian  temples  are  built  on  ruins,  and  they  theniselves 
are  generally  dilapidated  or  decayed ;  thus  they  are  ruins  of 
ruins."  Campbell  was  on  an  easier  subject  than  that  of  Anglo- 
Catholicism,  and  no  one  interrupting  him,  he  proceeded  flow- 
ingly :  "  In  Rome  you  have  huge  high  buttresses  in  the  place  .of 
columns,  and  these  not  cased  with  marble,  but  of  cold  white 
plaster  or  paint.  They  impart  an  indescribable  forlorn  look  to 
the  churches."  Willis  said  he  often  wondered  what  took  so 
many  foreigners,  that  is  Protestants,  to  Rome ;  it  was  so  dreary, 
so  melancholy  a  place ;  a  number  of  old,  crumbling,  shapeless, 
brick  masses,  the  ground  unlevelled,  the  straight  causeways 
fenced  by  high  monotonous  walls,  the  points  of  attraction  strag- 
gling over  broad  solitudes,  faded  palaces,  trees  universally  pol- 
larded, streets  ankle  deep  in  filth  or  eyes-and-mouth  deep  in  a 
cloud  of  whirling  dust  and  straws,  the  cHmate  most  capricious, 
the  evening  air  most  perilous.  Naples  was  an  earthly  paradise ; 
but  Rome  was  a  city  of  faith.  To  seek  the  shrines  it  contained 
was  a  veritable  penance,  as  was  fitting.  He  understood  Cath- 
olics going  there  ;  he  was  perplexed  at  Protestants.  "  There  is 
a  spell  about  the  limina  Apostolorum"  said  Charles  ;  "  St.  Peter 
and  St.  Paul  are  not  there  for  nothing."  "  There  is  a  more  tan- 
gible reason,"  said  Campbell ;  "  it  is  a  place  where  persons  of  all 
nations  are  to  be  found ;  no  society  is  so  varied  as  the  Roman. 
You  go  to  a  ball  room  ;  your  host,  whom  you  bow  to  in  the  first 
apartment,  is  a  Frenchman ;  as  you  advance,  your  eye  catches 
Massena's  granddaughter  in  conversation  with  Mustapha  Pacha ; 
you  soon  find  yourself  seated  between  a  Yankee  charge  d'affaires 


180  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

and  a  Russian  colonel ;  and  an  Englishman  is  playing  the  fool 
in  front  of  you." 

Here  Campbell  looked  at  his  watch,  and  then  at  Willis,  whom 
he  had  driven  over  to  Melford  to  return  Bateman's  call.  It  was 
time  for  them  to  be  going,  or  they  would  be  overtaken  by  the 
evening.  Bateman,  who  had  remained  in  a  state  of  great  dis- 
satisfaction since  he  last  spoke,  which  had  not  been  for  quarter 
of  an  hour  past,  did  not  find  himself  in  spirits  to  try  much  to 
detain  either  them  or  Reding  ;  so  he  was  speedily  left  to  himself. 
He  drew  his  chair  to  the  fire,  and  for  a  while  felt  nothing  more 
than  a  heavy  load  of  disgust.  After  a  time,  however,  his 
thoughts  began  to  draw  themselves  out  into  series,  and  took  the 
following  form  :  "  It's  too  bad,  too  bad,"  he  said ;  "  Campbell  is 
a  very  clever  man  —  far -cleverer  than  I  am ;  a  well-read  man, 
too ;  but  he  has  no  tact,  no  tact.  It  is  deplorable  ;  Reding's 
coming  was  one  misfortune  ;  however,  we  might  have  got  over 
that,  we  might  have  even  turned  it  to  an  advantage  ;  but  to  use 
such  arguments  as  he  *did  !  how  could  he  hope  to  convince  him  ?  he 
made  us  both  a  mere  laughing  stock.  *  *  *  How  did  he  throw 
off?  O,  he  said  that  the  Rubrics  were  not  binding.  Who  ever 
heard  such  a  thing  —  at  least  from  an  Anglo- Catholic  ?  Why 
pretend  to  be  a  good  Catholic  with  such  views  ?  Better  call 
himself  a  Protestant  or  Erastian  at  once,  and  one  would  know 
where  to  find  him.  Such  a  bad  impression  it  must  make  on 
Willis  ;  I  saw  it  did ;  he  could  hardly  keep  from  smiling ;  but 
Campbell  has  no  tact  at  all.  He  goes  on,  on,  his  own  way, 
bringing  out  his  own  thoughts,  which  are  very  clever,  original 
certainly,  but  never  considering  his  company.  And  he's  so 
positive,  so  knock-me-down ;  it  is  quite  unpleasant,  I  don't  know 
how  to  sit  it  sometimes.  O,  it  is  a  cruel  thing  this  —  the  effect 
must  be  wretched.  Poor  Willis  !  I  declare  I  don't  think  we  have 
moved  him  one  inch,  I  really  don't.  I  fancied  at  one  time  he  was 
even  laughing  at  me.  *  *  *  What  was  it  he  said  afterwards  ? 
there  was  something  else,  I  know.  I  recollect ;  that  the  Catholic 
Church  was  in  ruins,  had  broken  to  pieces.  What  a  paradox  ! 
who'll  believe  that  but  he  ?  I  declare  I  am  so  vexed  I  don't 
know  what  to  be  at."  He  jumped  up,  and  began  walking  to  and 
fro.  "  But  all  this  is  because  the  Bishops  won't  interfere ;  one 
can't  say  it,  that's  the  worst,  but  they  are  at  the  bottom  of  the 
evil.  They  have  but  to  put  out  their  little  finger,  and  enforce 
the  Rubrics,  and  then  the  whole  controversy  would  be  at  an 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  181 

end.  *  *  *  I  knew  there  was  something  else.  He  said  we 
need  not  fast !  But  Cambridge  men  are  always  peculiar,  they  al- 
ways have  some  whim  or  other  ;  he  ought  to  have  been  at  Oxford, 
and  we  should  have  made  a  man  of  him.  He  has  many  good 
points,  but  he  runs  theories,  and  rides  hobbies,  and  drives  con- 
sequences, to  death." 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  his  clerk,  who  told  him  that  John 
Tims  had  taken  his  oath  that  his  wife  should  not  be  churched  be- 
fore the  congregation,  and  was  half  minded  to  take  his  infant  to 
the  Methodists  for  baptism  ;  and  his  thoughts  took  a  different 
direction. 


CHAPTER    XIX 


The  winter  had  been  on  the  whole  dry  and  pleasant,  but  in 
February  and  March  the  rains  were  so  profuse,  and  the  winds 
so  high,  that  Bateman  saw  very  little  of  either  Charles  or  Willis. 
He  did  not  abandon  his  designs  on  the  latter,  but  it  was  an 
anxious  question  how  best  to  conduct  them.  As  to  Campbell,  he 
was  resolved  to  exclude  him  from  any  participation  in  them  ;  but 
he  hesitated  about  Reding.  He  had  found  him  far  less  definite- 
ly Roman  than  he  expected,  and  he  conjectured  that,  by  making 
him  his  confidant  and  employing  him  against  Willis,  he  really 
might  succeed  in  giving  him  an  Anglican  direction.  According- 
ly, he  told  him  of  his  anxiety  to  restore  Willis  to  "  the  Church 
of  his  baptism ; "  and,  not  discouraged  by  Charles's  advice  to  let 
well  alone,  and  that  he  might  succeed  in  drawing  him  from 
Rome  without  reclaiming  him  to  Anglicanism,  the  weather 
having  improved,  he  asked  the  two  to  dinner  on  one  of  the 
later  Sundays  in  Lent.  He  determined  to  make  a  field  day  of 
it ;  and  with  that  view,  he  carefully  got  up  some  of  the  most 
popular  works  against  the  Church  of  Rome.  After  much 
thought,  he  determined  to  direct  his  attack  on  some  of  the  "  prac- 
tical evils,"  as  he  considered  them,  of  "Romanism;"  as  being 
more  easy  of  proof  than  points  of  doctrine  and  history,  in  which, 
too,  for  wliat  he  knew,  Willis  might  by  this  time  be  better  read 
than  himself.  He  considered,  too,  that,  if  Willis  had  been  at  all 
shaken  in  his  new  faith  when  he  was  abroad,  it  was  by  the  prac- 
16 


182  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

tical  exemplification  which  he  had  before  his  eyes,  of  the  issue 
of  its  peculiar  doctrines  when  freely  carried  out.  Moreover,  to 
tell  the  truth,  our  good  friend  had  not  a  very  clear  apprehension 
how  much  doctrine  he  held  in  common  with  the  Church  of  Rome, 
or  where  he  was  to  stop  in  the  several  details  of  Pope  Pius's 
Creed ;  in  consequence,  it  was  evidently  safer  to  confine  his 
attack  to  matters  of  practice. 

"You  see,  Willis,"  he  said,  as  they  sat  down  to  table,  "I  have 
given  you  abstinence  food,  not  knowing  whether  you  avail  your- 
self of  the  dispensation.  We  shall  eat  meat  ourselves  ;  but 
don't  think  we  don't  fast  at  proper  times ;  I  don't  agree  with 
Campbell  at  all ;  we  don't  fast,  however,  on  Sunday.  That  is 
our  rule,  and,  I  take  it,  a  primitive  one."  Willis  answered,  that 
he  did  not  know  how  the  primitive  usage  lay,  but  he  supposed 
that  both  of  them  allowed  that  matters  of  discipline  might  be 
altered  by  the  proper  authority.  "  Certainly,"  answered  Bate- 
man,  "  so  that  every  thing  is  done  consistently  with  the  inspired 
text  of  Scripture;" — he  stopped,  itching,  if  he  could,  to  bring 
in  some  great  subject,  but  not  seeing  how.  He  saw  he  must 
rush  in  medias  res  ;  so  he  added,  —  "  with  which  inspired  text, 
I  presume,  what  one  sees  in  foreign  churches  is  not  very  con- 
sistent." "  What,  I  suppose  you  mean  antependia,  rere  dosses, 
stone  altars,  copes,  and  mitres,"  said  Willis,  innocently ;  "  which 
certainly  are  not  in  Scripture."  "  True,"  said  Bateman ;  "  but 
these,  though  not  in  Scripture,  are  not  inconsistent  with  Scrip- 
ture. They  are  all  very  right ;  but  the  worship  of  Saints,  espe- 
cially the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  of  relics,  the  gabbling  over  prayers 
in  an  unknown  tongue.  Indulgences,  and  infrequent  communions, 
I  suspect  are  directly  unscriptural."  "  My  dear  Bateman,"  said 
Willis,  "  you  seem  to  live  in  an  air  of  controversy ;  so  it  was  at 
Oxford;  there  was  always  argument  going  on  in  your  rooms. 
Religion  is  a  thing  t»enjoy,  not  to  quarrel  about ;  give  me  a  slice 
more  of  that  leg  of  mutton."  "Yes,  Bateman,"  said  Reding, 
"  you  must  let  us  enjoy  our  meat.  Willis  deserves  it,  for  I  be- 
lieve he  has  had  a  fair  walk  to-day.  Have  you  not  been  all  the 
way  to  Seaton  and  back  ?  a  matter  of  fourteen  miles,  and  hilly 
ground  ;  it  can't  be  dry,  too,  in  parts  yet."  "  True,"  said  Bate- 
man ;  "  take  a  glass  of  wine,  Willis  ;  it's  good  Madeira ;  an  aunt 
of  mine  sent  it  me."  "  He  puts  us  to  shame,"  said  Charles, 
"  who  have  stepped  into  church  from  our  bed  room ;  he  has 
trudged  a  pilgrimage  to  his."     "  I'm  not  saying  a  word  against 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  183 

our  dear  friend  Willis,"  said  Bateman ;  "  it  was  merely  a  point 
on  which  I  thought  he  would  agree  with  me,  that  there  were 
many  corruptions  of  worship  in  foreign  churches."  At  last, 
when  his  silence  was  observable,  Willis  said  that  he  supposed 
that  persons  who  were  not  Catholics  could  not  tell  what  were 
corruptions  and  what  not.  Here  the  subject  dropped  again  ;  for 
Willis  did  not  seem  in  a  humor,  perhaps  he  was  too  tired  to  con- 
tinue it.  So  they  ate  and  drank,  with  nothing  but  very  common- 
place remarks  to  season  their  meal  withal,  till  the  cloth  was  re- 
moved. The  table  was  then  shoved  back  a  bit,  and  the  three 
young  men  got  over  the  fire,  which  Bateman  made  burn 
brightly.  Two  of  them  at  least  had  deserved  some  relaxation, 
and  they  were  the  two  who  were  to  be  opponent  and  respondent 
in  the  approaching  argument ;  one  had  had  a  long  walk  ;  the  other 
had  had  two  full  services,  a  baptism,  and  a  funeral.  The  armis- 
tice continued  a  good  quarter  of  an  hour,  which  Charles  and 
Willis  spent  in  easy  conversation ;  till  Bateman,  who  had  been 
priming  himself  the  while  with  his  controversial  points,  found 
himself  ready  for  the  assault,  and  opened  it  in  form. 

"  Come,  my  dear  Willis,"  he  said ;  "  I  can't  let  you  off  so  ; 
I  am  sure  what  you  saw  abroad  scandalized  you."  This  was 
almost  rudely  put :  Willis  said  that,  had  he  been  a  Protestant, 
be  might  have  been  easily  shocked ;  but  he  had  been  a  Catho- 
lic ;  and  he  drew  an  almost  imperceptible  sigh.  Besides,  had 
he  had  a  temptation  to  be  shocked,  he  should  have  recollected 
that  he  was  in  a  Church,  which  in  all  greater  matters  could  not 
err.  He  had  not  come  to  the  Church  to  criticize,  he  said,  but 
to  learn.  "  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  "  what  is  meant  by  saying 
that  we  ought  to  have  faith,  that  faith  is  a  grace,  that  faith  is 
the  means  of  our  salvation,  if  there  is  nothing  to  exercise  it. 
Faith  goes  against  sight ;  well,  then,  unless  there  are  sights 
which  offend  you,  there  is  nothing  for  it  to  go  against."  Bate- 
man called  this  a  paradox ;  if  so,  he  said,  why  don't  we  become 
Mahometans  ?  we  should  have  enough  to  believe  then. 

"Why,  just  consider,"  said  Willis  ;  "supposing  your  friend, 
an  honorable  man,  is  accused  of  theft,  and  appearances  are 
against  him,  would  you  at  once  admit  the  charge  ?  It  would  be 
a  fair  trial  of  your  faith  in  him ;  and  if  he  were  able  in  the 
event  satisfactorily  to  rebut  it,  I  don't  think  he  would  thank 
you,  should  you  have  waited  for  his  explanation  before  you  took 
his  part,  instead  of  knowing  him  too  well  to  suspect  it.    If,  then, 


184  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

I  come  to  the  Church  with  faith  in  her,  whatever  I  see  there, 
even  if  it  surprises  me,  is  but  a  trial  of  my  faith."  "  That  is 
true,"  said  Charles  ;  "  but  there  must  be  some  ground  for  faith ; 
we  do  not  believe  without  reason  ;  and  the  question  is,  whether 
what  the  Church  does,  as  in  worship,  is  not  a  fair  matter  to  form 
a  judgment  upon,  for  or  against."  "  A  Catholic,"  said  Willis, 
"  as  I  was  when  I  was  abroad,  has  already  found  his  grounds, 
for  he  believes ;  but  for  one  who  has  not  —  I  mean  a  Protestant 
—  I  certainly  consider  it  is  very  uncertain  whether  he  will  take 
the  view  of  Catholic  worship  which  he  ought  to  take.  It  may 
easily  happen  that  he  will  not  understand  it."  "  Yet  persons  have 
before  now  been  converted  by  the  sight  of  Catholic  worship," 
said  Reding.  "  Certainly,"  answered  Willis  ;  "  God  works  in 
a  thousand  ways  ;  there  is  much  in  Catholic  worship  to  strike 
a  Protestant,  but  there  is  much  which  will  perplex  him ;  for 
instance,  what  Bateman  has  alluded  to,  our  devotion  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin." 

"  Surely,"  said  Bateman,  "  this  is  a  plain  matter  ;  it  is  quite 
impossible  that  the  worship  paid  by  Roman  Catholics  to  the 
Blessed  Mary  should  not  interfere  with  the  supreme  adoration 
due  to  the  Creator  alone."  "  This  is  just  an  instance  in  point," 
said  Willis;  "you  see  you  are  judging  a  priori;  you  know 
nothing  of  the  state  of  the  case  from  experience,  but  you  say, 
*  It  must  be  ;  it  can't  be  otherwise.'  This  is  the  way  a  Protes- 
tant judges,  and  comes  to  one  conclusion  ;  a  Catholic,  who  acts, 
and  does  not  speculate,  feels  the  truth  of  the  contrary."  "  Some 
things,"  said  Bateman,  "  are  so  like  axioms,  as  to  supersede 
trial.  On  the  other  hand,  familiarity  is  very  likely  to  hide  from 
people  the  real  evil  of  certain  practices."  "  How  strange  it  is," 
answered  Willis,  "  that  you  don't  perceive  that  this  is  the  very 
argument  which  various  sects  urge  against  you  Anglicans  !  For 
instance,  the  Unitarian  says  that  the  doctrine  of  the  Atonement 
must  lead  to  our  looking  at  the  Father,  not  as  a  God  of  love,  but 
of  vengeance  only ;  and  he  calls  the  doctrine  of  eternal  punish- 
ment immoral.  And  so,  the  Wesleyan  or  Baptist  declares  that 
it  is  an  absurdity  to  suppose  any  one  can  hold  the  doctrine  of 
baptismal  regeneration,  and  really  be  spiritual ;  that  the  doc- 
trine must  have  a  numbing  effect  on  the  mind,  and  destroy  its 
single  reliance  on  the  atonement  of  Christ.  I  will  take  another 
instance :  many  a  good  Catholic,  who  never  came  across  Angli- 
cans, is  as  utterly  unable  to  realize  your  position  as  you  are  to 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  185 

realize  his.  He  cannot  make  out  how  you  can  be  so  illogical  as 
not  to  go  forward  or  backward  ;  nay,  he  pronounces  your  pro- 
fessed state  of  mind  impossible  ;  he  does  not  believe  in  its  ex- 
istence. I  may  deplore  your  state ;  I  may  think  you  illogical 
and  worse ;  but  I  know  it  is  a  state  which  does  exist.  As,  then, 
I  admit  that  a  person  can  profess  one  Catholic  Church,  yet  with- 
out believing  that  the  Roman  Communion  is  it ;  so  I  put  it  to 
you,  even  as  an  argumentum  ad  hominem,  whether  you  ought 
not  to  believe  that  we  can  honor  our  Blessed  Lady  as  the  first 
of  creatures,  without  interfering  with  the  honor  due  to  God. 
At  most,  you  ought  to  call  us  only  illogical,  you  ought  not  to 
deny  that  we  do  what  we  say  we  do."  "  I  make  a  distinction," 
said  Bateman  :•  "  it  is  quite  possible,  I  fully  grant,  for  an  edu- 
cated Romanist  to  distinguish  between  the  devotion  paid  by  him 
to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  the  worship  of  God ;  I  only  say  that 
the  multitude  will  not  distinguish."  "  I  know  you  say  so," 
answered  Willis  ;  "  and  still,  I  repeat,  not  from  experience,  but  on 
an  a  priori  ground.  You  say,  not '  it  is  so,'  but  '  it  must  be  so.' " 
There  was  a  pause  in  the  conversation,  and  then  Bateman 
recommenced  it.  "  You  may  give  us  some  trouble,"  said  he, 
laughing,  "  but  we  are  resolved  to  have  you  back,  my  good 
"Willis.  Now  consider,  you  are  a  lover  of  truth  :  is  that  Church 
from  heaven  which  tells  untruths  ? "  Willis  laughed  too ; 
"  We  must  define  the  words  truth  and  untruth,^'  he  said  ;  "  but, 
subject  to  that  definition,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  enunciating  the 
truism,  that  a  Church  is  not  from  heaven  which  tells  untruths." 
*'  Of  course,  you  can't  deny  the  proposition,"  said  Bateman ; 
"  well  then,  is  it  not  quite  certain  that  in  Rome  itself  there  are 
relics  which  all  learned  men  now  give  up,  and  which  yet  are 
venerated  as  rehcs  ?  For  instance,  Campbell  tells  me  that  the 
reputed  heads  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul,  in  some  great  Roman 
basilica,  are  certainly  not  the  heads  of  the  Apostles,  because  the 
head  of  St.  Paul  was  found  with  his  body,  after  the  fire  at  his 
church  some  years  since."  "  I  don't  know  about  the  particular 
instance,"  answered  Willis ;  "  but  you  are  opening  a  large  ques- 
tion, which  cannot  be  settled  in  a  few  words.  If  I  must  speak, 
I  should  say  this :  I  should  begin  with  the  assumption  that  the 
existence  of  relics  is  not  improbable;  do  you  grant  that'^"  "I 
grant  nothing,"  said  Bateman  ;  "  but  go  on."  "  Why  you  have 
plenty  of  heathen  relics,  which  you  admit.  What  is  Pompeii, 
and  all  that  is  found  there,  but  one  vast  heathen  relic  .^  why 
16* 


186  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

should  there  not  be  Christian  relics  in  Rome  and  elsewhere,  as 
well  as  pagan  ? "  "  Of  course,  of  course,"  said  Bateman. 
'"  Well,  and  relics  may  be  identified.  You  have  the  tomb  of 
the  Scipios,  with  their  names  on  them.  Did  you  find  ashes  in 
one  of  them,  I  suppose  you  would  be  pretty  certain  that  they 
were  the  ashes  of  a  Scipio."  "  To  the  point,"  cried  Bateman, 
*'  quicker."  "  St.  Peter,"  continued  Willis,  "  speaks  of  David, 
*  whose  sepulchre  is  with  you  unto  this  day.'  Therefore,  it's 
nothing  wonderful  that  a  religious  relic  should  be  preserved 
eleven  hundred  years,  and  identified  to  be  such,  when  a  nation 
makes  a  point  of  preserving  it."  "  This  is  beatings  about  the 
bush,"  cried  Bateman  impatiently;  "get  on  quicker."  "Let 
me  go  on  my  own  way,"  said  Willis  ;  "  then  there  is  nothing 
improbable,  considering  Christians  have  always  been  very  care- 
ful about  the  memorials  of  sacred  things  — "  "You've  not 
proved  that,"  said  Bateman,  fearing  that  some  manoeuvre,  he 
could  not  tell  what,  was  in  progress.  "  Well,"  said  Willis,  "  you 
don't  doubt  it,  I  suppose,  at  least  from  the  fourth  century,  when 
St.  Helena  brought  from  the  Holy  Land  the  memorials  of  our 
Lord's  passion,  and  lodged  them  at  Rome  in  the  Basilica,  which 
she  thereupon  called  Santa  Croce.  As  to  the  previous  times  of 
persecution,  Christians  of  course  had  fewer  opportunities  of  show- 
ing a  similar  devotion,  and  historical  records  are  less  copious ; 
yet,  in  spite  of  this,  its  existence  is  as  certain  as  any  fact  of  his- 
tory. They  collected  the  bones  of  St.  Polycarp,  the  immediate 
discij)le  of  St.  John,  after  he  was  burned  ;  as  of"  St.  Ignatius  before 
him,  after  his  exposure  to  the  beasts  ;  and  so  in  like  manner  the 
bones  or  blood  of  all  the  martyrs.  No  one  doubts  it ;  I  never 
heard  of  any  who  did.  So  the  disciples  took  up  the  Baptist's 
body,  —  it  would  have  been  strange  if  they  had  not,  —  and 
buried  it  '  in  the  sepulchre,'  as  the  Evangelist  says,  speaking 
of  it  as  known.  Now,  why  should  they  not  in  like  manner,  and 
even  with  greater  reason,  have  rescued  the  bodies  of  St.  Peter 
and  St.  Paul,  if  it  were  only  for  decent  burial  ?  Is  it  then 
wonderful,  if  the  bodies  were  rescued,  that  they  should  be  after- 
wards preserved  ?  "  "  But  they  can't  be  in  two  places  at  once," 
said  Bateman.  "  But  hear  me,"  answered  Willis  ;  "  I  say  then, 
if  there  is  a  tradition  that  in  a  certain  place  there  is  a  relic  of 
an  apostle,  there  is  at  first  sight  a  probability  that  it  is  there ; 
the  presumption  is  in  its  favor.  Can  you  deny  it  ?  Well,  if 
the  same  relic  is  reported  to  be  in  two  places,  then  one  or  the 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  187 

other  tradition  is  erroneous,  and  the  prima  facte  force  of  both 
traditions  is  weakened ;  but  I  should  not  actually  discard  either 
at  once ;  each  has  its  force  still,  though  neither  so  great  a  force. 
Now,  suppose  there  are  circumstances  which  confirm  the  one, 
the  other  is  weakened  still  further,  and  at  length  the  probability 
of  its  truth  may  become  evanescent ;  and  when  a  fair  interval 
has  passed,  and  there  is  no  change  of  evidence  in  its  favor,  then 
it  is  at  length  given  up.  But  all  this  is  a  work  of  time  ;  mean- 
while, it  is  not  a  bit  more  of  an  objection  to  the  doctrine  and 
practice  of  relic  veneration  that  a  body  is  said  to  lie  in  two 
places,  than  to  profane  history  that  Charles  the  First  was  re- 
ported by  some  authorities  to  be  buried  at  Windsor,  by  others 
at  Westminster  ;  which  question  was  decided  just  before  our 
times.  It  is  a  question  of  evidence,  and  must  be  treated  as 
such."  "But  if  St.  Paul's  head  was  found  under  his  own 
church,"  said  Bateman,  "  it's  pretty  clear  it  is  not  preserved  at 
the  other  basilica."  "  True,"  answered  Willis ;  "  but  grave 
questions  of  this  kind  cannot  be  decided  in  a  moment.  I  don't 
know  myself  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  and  do  but  take  your 
account  of  it.  It  has  to  be  proved,  then,  that  it  was  St.  Paul's 
head  which  was  found  with  his  body  ;  for,  since  he  was  behead- 
ed, it  would  not  be  attached  to  it.  This  is  one  question,  and 
others  would  arise.  It  is  not  easy  to  settle  a  question  of  his- 
tory. Questions  which  seem  settled  revive.  It  is  very  well 
for  secular  historians  to  give  up  a  tradition  or  testimony  at  once, 
and  for  a  generation  to  '  O  !  O  ! '  it ;  but  the  Church  cannot  do  so  ; 
she  has  a  religious  responsibility,  and  must  move  slowly.  Take 
the  chance  of  its  turning  out  that  the  heads  at  St.  John  Lateran 
were,  alter  all,  those  of  the  two  Apostles,  and  that  she  had  cast 
them  aside.  Questions,  I  say,  revive.  Did  not  Walpole  prove 
to  admiration  that  the  two  little  princes  had  a  place  in  the  pro- 
cession at  King  Richard's  coronation?  yet,  some  years  ago,  two 
skeletons  of  boys  were  found  in  the  Tower  at  the  very  place 
where  the  children  of  Edward  were  said  to  be  murdered  and 
buried  by  the  Duke  of  Gloucester.  I  speak  from  memory,  but 
the  general  fact  which  I  am  illustrating  is  undeniable.  Usher, 
Pearson,  and  Voss  proved  that  St.  Ignatius's  shorter  Epistles 
were  genuine  ;  and  now,  after  the  lapse  of  two  centuries,  the 
question  is  at  least  plausibly  mooted  again. 

There  was    another  pause,  while  Bateman  thought  over  his 
facts  and  arguments,  but  nothing  was  forthcoming  at  the  moment. 


188  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

Willis  continued :  "  You  must  consider  also  that  reputed  relics, 
such  as  you  have  mentioned,  are  generally  in  the  custody  of  re- 
ligious bodies,  who  are  naturally  very  jealous  of  attempts  to  prove 
them  spurious,  and  with  a  pardonable  esprit  de  corps^  defend 
them  with  all  their  might,  and  oppose  obstacles  in  the  way  of  an 
adverse  decision ;  just  as  your  own  society  defends,  most  worthily, 
the  fair  fame  of  your  foundress.  Queen  Boadicea.  Were  the 
case  given  against  her  by  every  tribunal  in  the  land,  your  valiant 
and  loyal  Head  w^ould  not  abandon  her ;  it  would  break  his  mag- 
nanimous heart;  he  would  die  in  her  service  as  a  good  knight. 
Both  from  religious  duty,  then,  and  from  human  feeling,  it  is 
a  very  arduous  thing  to  get  a  received  relic  disowned."  ''  Well," 
said  Bateman,  "  to  my  poor  judgment  it  does  seem  a  dishonesty  to 
keep  up  inscriptions,  for  instance,  which  every  one  knows  not  to 
be  true."  "  My  dear  Bateman,  that  is  begging  the  question," 
said  Willis  ;  ''^  every  body  does  not  know  it ;  it  is  a  point  in  course 
of  settlement,  but  not  settled ;  you  may  say  that  individuals 
have  settled  it,  or  it  may  be  settled,  but  it  is  not  settled  yet. 
Parallel  cases  happen  frequently  in  civil  matters,  and  no  one 
speaks  harshly  of  existing  individuals  or  bodies  in  consequence. 
Till  lately  the  Monument  in  London  bore  an  inscription  to  the 
effect  that  London  had  been  burned  by  us  poor  Papists.  A  hun- 
dred years  ago.  Pope,  the  poet,  had  called  the  '  column '  '  a  tall 
bully,'  which  '  lifts  its  head  and  lies.'  Yet  the  inscription  was 
not  removed  till  a  few  years  since  —  I  believe  when  the  Monu- 
ment was  repaired.  That  w^as  an  opportunity  for  erasing  a  cal- 
umny which,  till  then,  had  not  been  definitely  pronounced  to  be 
such,  and  not  pronounced,  in  deference  to  the  prima  facie  au- 
thority of  a  statement  contemporaneous  with  the  calamity  which 
it  recorded.  There'  is  never  a  point  of  time  at  which  you  can 
say,  'The  tradition  is  now  disproved.'  When  a  re(;eived  belief 
has  been  apparently  exposed,  the  question  lies  dormant,  for  the 
opportunity  of  fresh  arguments  ;  when  none  appear,  then  at  length 
an  accident,  such  as  the  repair  of  a  building,  despatches  it." 

"We  have  somehow  got  off  the  subject,"  thought  Bateman; 
and  he  sat  fidgeting  about  to  find  the  thread  of  his  argument. 
Reding  put  in  an  objection  ;  he  said  that  no  one  knew  or  cared 
about  the  inscription  on  the  Monument,  but  religious  veneration 
was  paid  to  the  two  heads  at  St.  John  Lateran.  "  Right,"  said 
Bateman,  "  that's  just  what  I  meant  to  say."  "  Well,"  answered 
Willis,    "  as  to    the    particular    case,   mind,   I  am    taking    your 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  189 

account  of  it,  for  I  don't  profess  to  know  how  the  matter  lies. 
Bat  'let  us  consider  the  extent  of  the  mistake.  There  is  no 
doubt  in  the  world  that  at  least  they  are  the  heads  of  martyrs  ; 
the  only  question  is  this,  and  no  more,  whether  they  are  the 
very  heads  of  the  two  Apostles.  From  time  immemorial  they 
have  been  preserved  upon  or  under  the  altar  as  the  heads  of 
saints  or  martyrs  ;  and  it  requires  to  know  very  little  of  Chris- 
tian antiquities  to  be  perfectly  certain  that  they  really  are  saintly 
relics,  even  though  unknown.  Hence  the  sole  mistake  is,  that 
Catholics  have  venerated,  Avhat  ought  to  be  venerated  any  how, 
under  a  wrong  name ;  perhaps  have  expected  miracles,  which 
they  had  a  right  to  expect,  and  have  experienced  them,  as  they 
might  well  experience  them,  because  they  were  the  relics  of 
saints,  though  they  were  in  error  as  to  what  saints.  This  surely 
is  no  great  matter."  "  You  have  made  three  assumptions,"  said 
Bateman  ;  "  first,  that  none  but  the  relics  of  saints  have  been 
placed  under  altars  ;  secondly,  that  these  relics  were  always 
there  ;  thirdly  —  thirdly  —  I  know  there  was  a  third  —  let  me 
see  "  —  "  Most  true,"  said  WilHs,  interrupting  him,  "  and  I  will 
help  you  to  some  others.  I  have  assumed  that  there  are  Chris- 
tians in  the  world  called  Catholics;  again,  that  they  think^t  right 
to  venerate  relics ;  but,  my  dear  Bateman,  these  were  the 
grounds,  and  not  the  point  of  our  argument ;  and  if  they  are  to 
be  questioned,  it  must  be  in  a  distinct  dispute :  but  I  really  think 
we  have  had  enough  of  disputation."  "Yes,  Bateman,"  said 
Charles  ;  "  it  is  getting  late.  I  must  think  of  returning.  Give 
us  some  tea,  and  let  us  be  gone."  "  Go  home  ! "  cried  Bateman; 
"  why,  we  have  just  done  dinner,  and  done  nothing  else  as  yet ; 
I  had  a  great  deal  to  say."  However,  he  rang  the  bell  for 
tea,  and  had  the  table  cleared. 


CHAPTER     XX 


The  conversation  flagged  ;  Bateman  was  again  busy  with  his 
memory ;  and  he  was  getting  impatient  too ;  time  was  slipping 
away,  and  no  blow  struck ;  moreover,  Willis  was  beginning  to 
gape,  and  Charles  seemed  impatient  to   be   released.     "  These 


^^^  LOSS    AND    GAIX. 


Romanists  put  things  so  plausibly,"  he  said  to  himself,  "but  verr 
unfairly,  most  unfairly  ;  one  ought  to  be  up  to  their  dodges.  I 
dare  say  ,f  the  truth  were  known,  Willis  has  had  lessons;  he 
looks  so  demure  ;  I  dare  say  he  is  keeping  back  a  great  deal, 
and  playing  upon  my  ignorance.  Who  knows  ?  perhaps  he's  a 
concealed  Jesuit."  It  was  an  awful  thought,  and  suspended  the 
course  of  his  reflections  some  seconds.  "  I  wonder  what  he  does 
really  think  ;  it  s  so  difficult  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  them  ;  they 
won  t  tell  tales,  and  they  are  under  obedience  ;  one  never  knows 
when  to  believe  them.  I  suspect  he  has  been  wofully  disap- 
pointed with  Romanism  ;  he  looks  so  thin  ;  but  of  course  he  won't 
say  so  ;  it  hurts  a  man's  pride,  and  he  likes  to  be  consistent ;  he 
doesn  t  like  to  be  laughed  at,  and  so  he  makes  the  best  of  things. 
I  wish  I  knew  how  to  treat  him  ;  I  was  wrong  in  having  Redinrr 
here ;  of  course  Willis  would  not  be  confidential  before  a  third 
person.  He  s  like  the  fox  that  lost  his  tail.  It  was  bad  tact  in 
me ;  I  see  it  now ;  what  a  thing  it  is  to  have  tact !  it  requires 
very  delicate  tact.  There  are  so  many  things  I  wished  to  say, 
about  Indulgences,  about  their  so  seldom  communicating ;  I  think 
I  must  ask  him  about  the  Mass."  So,  after  fidgeting  a  good  deal 
within  while  he  was  ostensibly  employed  in  making  tea,  he  com- 
menced his  last  assault. 

"Well,  Ave  shall  have  you  back  again  among  us  by  next 
Christmas,  Willis,"  he  said;  "I  can't  give  you  greater  law;  I 
am  certain  of  it;  it  takes  time,  but  slow  and  sure.  What  a  iov- 
ful  time  It  will  be  !  I  can't  tell  what  keeps  you  ;  you  are  doing 
nothing;  you  are  flung  into  a  corner;  you  are  wasting  life! 
What  keeps  you  "Willis  looked  odd;  and  then  simply  an- 
swered "  Grace  "  Bateman  was  startled,  but  recovered  him- 
self;  Heaven  forbid,"  he  said,  "that  I  should  treat  these  thino-s 
lightly,  or  interfere  with  you  unduly.  I  know,  my  dear  friend, 
what  a  serious  fellow  you  are ;  but  do  tell  me,  just  tell  me,  how 
can  you  justify  the  Mass,  as  it  is  performed  abroad  ;  how  can  it 
be  called  a  ^  reasonable  service,'  when  all  parties  conspire  to  bab- 
ble it  over,  as  if  it  mattered  not  a  jot  who  attended  to  it,  or  even 
understood  it  ?  Speak,  man,  speak,"  he  added,  gently  shaking 
him  by  the  shoulder.  "  These  are  such  difficult  questions,"  an- 
swered Willis  ;  "must  I  speak?  Such  difficult  questions,"- he 
continued,  rising  into  a  more  animated  manner,  and  kindlincr  as 
he  went  on;  "I  mean,  people  view  them  so  diff^erently;  it  ?s  so 
clifheult  to  convey  to  one  person  the  idea  of  another.     The  idea 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  191 

of  worship  is  different  in  the  Catholic  Church  from  the  idea  of  it 
in  your  Church  ;  for,  in  truth,  the  religions  are  different.  Don't 
deceive  yourself,  my  dear  Bateman,"  he  said  tenderly,  "  it  is  not 
that  ours  is  your  religion  carried  a  little  farther,  —  a  little  too 
far,  as  you  would  say.  No,  they  differ  in  kind,  not  in  degree  ; 
ours  is  one  religion,  yours  another.  And  when  the  time  comes, 
and  come  it  will,  for  you,  alien  as  you  are  now,  to  submit  your- 
self to  the  gracious  yoke  of  Christ,  then,  my  dearest  Bateman, 
it  will  be  faith  which  will  enable  you  to  bear  the  ways  and 
usages  of  Catholics,  which  else  might  perhaps  startle  you.  Else, 
the  habits  of  years,  the  associations  in  your  mind  of  a  certain 
outward  behavior  with  real  inward  acts  of  devotion,  might  em- 
barrass you,  when  you  had  to  conform  yourself  to  other  habits, 
and  to  create  for  yourself  other  associations.  But  this  faith, 
of  which  I  speak,  the  great  gift  of  God,  will  enable  you  in  that 
day  to  overcome  yourself,  and  to  submit,  as  your  judgment,  your 
will,  your  reason,  your  affections,  so  your  tastes  and  likings,  to 
the  rule  and  usage  of  the  Church.  Ah,  that  faith  should  be 
necessary  in  such  a  matter,  and  that  what  is  so  natural  and  be- 
coming under  the  circumstances,  should  have  need  of  an  expla- 
nation !  I  declare,  to  me,"  he  said,  and  he  clasped  his  hands  on 
his  knees,  and  looked  forward  as  if  soliloquizing,  "  to  me  nothing 
is  so  consoling,  so  piercing,  so  thrilling,  so  overcoming,  as  the 
Mass,  said  as  it  is  among  us.  I  could  attend  masses  forever, 
and  not  be  tired.  It  is  not  a  mere  form  of  words, — it  is  a  great 
action,  the  greatest  action  that  can  be  on  earth.  It  is,  not  the 
invocation  merely,  but,  if  I  dare  use  the  word,  the  evocation  of 
the  Eternal.  He  becomes  present  on  the  altar  in  flesh  and  blood, 
before  whom  angels  bow  and  devils  tremble.  This  is  that  aw- 
ful event  which  is  the  end,  and  is  the  interpretation,  of  every 
part  of  the  solemnity.  Words  are  necessary,  but  as  means,  not 
as  ends ;  they  are  not  mere  addresses  to  the  throne  of  grace, 
they  are  instruments  of  what  is  far  higher,  of  consecration,  of 
sacrifice.  They  hurry  on  as  if  impatient  to  fulfil  their  mission. 
Quickly  they  go,  the  whole  is  quick  ;  for  they  are  all  parts  of 
one  integral  action.  Quickly  they  go  ;  for  they  are  awful  words 
of  sacrifice,  they  are  a  work  too  great  to  delay  upon  ;  as  when 
it  was  said  in  the  beginning,  'What  thou  doest,  do  quickly.' 
Quickly  they  pass  ;  for  the  Lord  Jesus  goes  with  them,  as  He 
passed  along  the  lake  in  the  days  of  His  flesh,  quickly  calling 
first  one  and  then  another.     Quickly  they  pass ;  because  as  the 


192  LOSS    AND    GATN. 

lightning  whicli  shineth  from  one  part  of  the  heaven  unto  the 
other,  so  is  the  coming  of  the  Son  of  Man.  Quickly  they  pass  ; 
for  they  are  as  the  words  of  Moses,  when  the  Lord  came  down 
in  a  cloud,  calling  on  the  Name  of  the  Lord  as  he  passed  by, 
*  The  Lord,  the  Lord  God,  merciful  and  gracious,  long  suffering, 
and  abundant  in  goodness  and  truth.'  And  as  Moses  on  the  moun- 
tain, so  we  too  '  make  haste  and  bow  our  heads  to  the  earth,  and 
adore.'  So  we,  all  around,  each  in  his  place,  look  out  for  the 
great  Advent,  '  waiting  for  the  moving  of  the  water.'  Each  in 
his  place,  with  his  own  heart,  with  his  own  wants,  with  his  own 
thoughts,  with  his  own  intention,  with  his  own  prayers,  separate 
but  concordant,  watching  what  is  going  on,  watching  its  progress, 
uniting  in  its  consummation  ;  —  not  painfully  and  hopelessly  fol- 
lowing a  hard  form  of  prayer  from  beginning  to  end,  but  like  a 
concert  of  musical  instruments,  each  different,  but  concurring  in 
a  sweet  harmony,  we  take  our  part  with  God's  priest,  supporting 
him,  yet  guided  by  him.  There  are  little  children  there,  and 
old  men,  and  simple  laborers,  and  students  in  seminaries,  priests 
preparing  for  Mass,  priests  making  their  thanksgiving;  there  are 
innocent  maidens,  and  there  are  penitents  ;  but  out  of  these 
many  minds  rises  one  eucharistic  hymn,  and  the  great  Action  is 
the  measure  and  the  scope  of  it.  And  O,  my  dear  Bateman," 
he  added,  turning  to  him,  "  you  ask  me  whether  this  is  not  a  for- 
mal unreasonable  service.  It  is  wonderful ! "  he  cried,  rising  up, 
"  quite  wonderful.  When  will  these  dear  good  people  be  en- 
lightened ?  0  Sapientia,  fortiter  suaviterque  disponens  omnia^ 
0  Adonai,  0  Glavis  David  et  JSxspectatio  gentium,  veni  ad  sal- 
vandum  nos,  Domine  Deus  noster."" 

Now,  at  least,  there  was  no  mistaking  Wilhs.  Bateman  stared 
and  was  almost  frightened  at  a  burst  of  enthusiasm  which  he  had 
been  far  from  expecting.  "  Why,  Willis,"  he  said,  "  it  is  not  true, 
then,  after  all,  what  we  heard,  that  you  were  somewhat  dubious, 
shaky,  in  your  adherence  to  Romanism  ?  I'm  sure  I  beg  your 
pardon  ;  I  would  not  for  the  world  have  annoyed  you,  had  I  known 
the  truth."  Willis's  face  still  glowed,  and  he  looked  as  youthful 
and  radiant  as  he  had  been  two  years  before.  There  was  nothing 
ungentle  in  his  impetuosity ;  a  smile,  almost  a  laugh,  was  on  his 
face,  as  if  he  was  half  ashamed  of  his  own  warmth ;  but  this 
took  nothing  from  its  evident  sincerity.  He  seized  Bateman's 
two  hands,  before  the  latter  knew  where  he  was,  lifted  him  up  out 
of  his  seat,  and  raising  his  own  mouth  close  to  his  ear,  said  in  a 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  193 

low  voice,  "  I  would  to  God,  that  not  only  thou,  but  also  all  who 
hear  me  this  day,  were  both  in  little  and  in  much  such  as  I  am, 
except  these  chains."  Then,  reminding  him  it  had  grown  late, 
and  bidding  him  good  night,  he  left  the  room  with  Charles. 

Bateman  remained  a  while  with  his  back  to  the  fire  after  the 
door  had  closed ;  presently  he  began  to  give  expression  to  his 
thoughts.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  he's  a  brick,  a  regular  brick  ;  he 
has  almost  affected  me  myself.  What  a  way  those  fellows  have 
with  them !  I  declare  his  touch  has  made  my  heart  beat ;  how 
catching  enthusiasm  is !  Any  one  but  I  might  really  have  been 
unsettled.  He  is  a  real  good  fellow ;  what  a  pity  we  have  not 
got  him !  he's  just  the  sort  of  man  we  want.  He'd  make  a  splen- 
did Anglican  ;  he'd  convert  half  the  dissenters  in  the  country. 
Well,  we  shall  have  them  in  time ;  we  must  not  be  impatient. 
But  the  idea  of  his  talking  of  converting  me  /  *  in  little  and  in 
much,'  as  he  worded  it !  By  the  by,  what  did  he  mean  by  '  ex- 
cept these  chains '  ?  "  He  sat  ruminating  on  the  difficulty  ;  at 
first  he  was  inclined  to  think  that,  after  all,  he  might  have  some 
misgiving  about  his  position  ;  then  he  thought  that  perhaps  he 
had  a  hair  shirt  or  a  catenella  on  him ;  and  lastly  he  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  he  had  just  meant  nothing  at  all,  and  did  but  fin 
ish  the  quotation  he  had  begun. 

After  passing  some  little  time  in  this  state,  he  looked  towards 
the  tea  tray ;  poured  himself  out  another  cup  of  tea  ;  ate  a  bit 
of  toast ;  took  the  coals  off  the  fire ;  blew  out  one  of  the  candles, 
and  taking  up  the  other,  left  the  parlor,  and  wound  like  an  om- 
nibus up  the  steep  twisting  staircase  to  his  bed  room. 

Meanwhile  Willis  and  Charles  were  proceeding  to  their  respec- 
tive homes.  For  a  while  they  had  to  pursue  the  same  path,  which 
they  did  in  silence.  Charles  had  been  moved  far  more  than 
Bateman,  or  rather  touched,  by  the  enthusiasm  of  his  Catholic 
friend,  though,  from  a  difficulty  in  finding  language  to  express 
himself,  and  a  fear  of  being  carried  off  his  legs,  he  had  kept  his 
feelings  to  himself.  When  they  were  about  to  part,  Willis  said 
to  him  in  a  subdued  tone,  "  You  are  soon  going  to  Oxford,  dear- 
est Reding ;  O,  that  you  were  one  with  us  !  You  have  it  in  you. 
I  have  thought  of  you  at  Mass  many  times.  Our  priest  has  said 
Mass  for  you.  O,  my  dear  friend,  quench  not  God's  grace ;  lis- 
ten to  His  call ;  you  have  had  what  others  have  not.  What  you 
want  is  faith.  I  suspect  you  have  quite  proof  enough  ;  enough 
to  be  converted  on.  But  faith  is  a  gift;  pray  for  that  great  gift, 
17 


194  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

Avithout  which  you  cannot  come  to  the  Church  ;  without  which," 
and  he  paused,  "  you  cannot  walk  aright  when  you  are  in  the 
Church.  And  now  farewell !  alas,  our  path  divides  :  all  is  easy 
to  him  that  believeth.  May  God  give  you  that  gift  of  faith,  as 
He  has  given  me  !  Farewell  again ;  who  knows  when  I  may 
see  you  next,  and  where  ?  may  it  be  in  the  courts  of  the  true 
Jerusalem,  the  Queen  of  Saints,  the  Holy  Roman  Church,  the 
Mother  of  us  all ! "  He  drew  Charles  to  him,  and  kissed  his 
cheek,  and  was  gone  before  Charles  had  time  to  say  a  word. 

Yet  Charles  could  not  have  spoken,  had  he  had  ever  so  much 
opportunity.  He  set  off  at  a  brisk  pace,  cutting  down  with  his 
stick  the  twigs  and  brambles  which  the  pale  twilight  discovered 
in  his  path.  It  seemed  as  if  the  kiss  of  his  friend  had  conveyed 
into  his  own  soul  the  enthusiasm  which  his  words  had  betokened. 
He  felt  himself  possessed,  he  knew  not  how,  by  a  high  superhu- 
man power,  which  seemed  able  to  push  through  mountains,  and 
to  walk  the  sea.  With  winter  around  him,  he  felt  within  like 
the  springtide,  when  all  is  new  and  bright.  He  perceived  that 
he  had  found,  what  indeed  he  had  never  sought,  because  he  had 
never  known  what  it  was,  but  what  he  had  ever  wanted,  —  a  soul 
sympathetic  with  his  own.  He  felt  he  was  no  longer  alone  in 
the  world,  though  he  was  losing  that  true  congenial  mind  the 
very  moment  he  had  found  him.  Was  this,  he  asked  himself, 
the  communion  of  Saints  ?  Alas  !  how  could  it  be,  when  he  was 
in  one  communion,  and  Willis  in  another  ?  "0  mighty  Mother ! " 
burst  from  his  lips ;  he  quickened  his  pace  almost  to  a  trot,  scal- 
ing the  steep  ascents  and  diving  into  the  hollows  which  lay  be- 
tween him  and  Boughton.  "  0  mighty  Mother  !  "  he  still  said, 
half  unconsciously ;  "  0  mighty  Mother  !  I  come,  O  mighty 
Mother  !  I  come  ;  but  I  am  far  from  home.  Spare  me  a  little  ; 
I  come  with  what  speed  I  may,  but  I  am  slow  of  foot,  and  not  as 
others,  0  mighty  Mother !  "  By  the  time  he  had  walked  two 
miles  in  this  excitement,  bodily  and  mental,  he  felt  himself,  as 
was  not  wonderful,  considerably  exhausted.  He  slackened  his 
pace,  and  gradually  came  to  himself;  but  still  he  went  on,  as  if 
mechanically,  "  O  mighty  Mother !  "  Suddenly  he  cried,  "  Halloo  ! 
where  did  I  get  these  words  ?  WilHs  did  not  use  them.  Well, 
I  must  be  on  my  guard  against  these  wild  ways.  Any  one  can 
be  an  enthusiast ;  enthusiasm  is  not  truth.  *  *  *  Q  mighty 
Mother  I  *  *  *  Alas,  I  know  where  my  heart  is  !  but  I  must 
go  by  reason.     *     *     *     Q  mighty  Mother ! " 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  195 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

The  time  came  at  length  for  Charles  to  return  to  Oxford ;  but 
during  the  last  month  scruples  had  risen  in  his  mind,  whether, 
with  his  present  feelings,  he  could  consistently  even  present  him- 
self for  his  examination.  No  subscription  was  necessary  for  his 
entrance  into  the  schools,  but  he  felt  that  the  honors  of  the  class 
list  were  only  intended  for  those  who  were  bona  Jide  adherents 
of  the  Church  of  England.  He  laid  his  difficulty  before  Carl- 
ton, who  in  consequence  did  his  best  to  ascertain  thoroughly  his 
present  state  of  mind.  It  seemed  that  Charles  had  no  intention, 
either  now  or  at  any  future  day,  of  joining  the  Church  of  Rome; 
that  he  felt  he  could  not  take  such  a  step  at  present  without  dis- 
tinct sin ;  that  it  would  simply  be  against  his  conscience  to  do  so ; 
that  he  had  no  feeling  whatever  that  God  called  him  to  do  so  ; 
that  he  felt  that  nothing  could  justify  so  serious  an  act  but  the 
conviction  that  he  could  not  be  saved  in  the  Church  to  which  he 
belonged ;  that  he  had  no  such  feeling ;  that  he  had  no  definite 
case  against  his  own  Church  sufficient  for  leaving  it,  nor  any 
definite  view  that  the  Church  of  Rome  was  the  One  Church  of 
Christ :  —  that  still  he  could  not  help  suspecting  that  o"ne  day  he 
should  think  otherwise  ;  he  conceived  the  day  might  come,  nay 
would  come,  when  he  should  have  that  conviction  which  at  pres- 
ent he  had  not,  and  which  of  course  would  be  a  call  on  him  to 
act  upon  it,  by  leaving  the  Church  of  England  for  that  of  Rome ; 
he  could  not  tell  distinctly  why  he  so  anticipated,  except  that 
there  were  so  many  things  which  he  thought  right  in  the  Church 
of  Rome,  and  so  many  which  he  thought  wrong  in  the  Church 
of  England ;  and  because,  too,  the  more  he  had  an  opportunity 
of  hearing  and  seeing,  the  greater  cause  he  had  to  admire  and 
revere  the  Roman  Catholic  system,  and  to  be  dissatisfied  with 
his  own.  Carlton,  after  carefully  considering  the  case,  advised 
him  to  go  in  for  his  examination.  He  acted  thus,  on  the  one 
hand,  as  vividly  feeling  the  changes  which  take  place  in  the 
minds  of  young  men,  and  the  difficulty  of  Reding  foretelling  his 
own  state  of  opinions  two  years  to  come ;  and  on  the  other,  from 
the  reasonable  anticipation  that  a  contrary  advice  would  have 
been  the  very  way  to  ripen  his  present  doubts  on  the  untenable- 
ness  of  Anglicanism  into  conviction. 

Accordingly,  his  examination  came  oflT  in  due  time  ;  the  schools 


196  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

were  full,  he  did  well,  and  his  class  was  considered  to  be  secure. 
Sheffield  followed  soon  after,  and  did  brilliantly.  The  list  came 
out ;  Sheffield  was  in  the  first  class,  Charles  in  the  second.  There 
is  always  of  necessity  a  good  deal  of  accident  in  these  matters ; 
but  in  the  present  case  reasons  enough  could  be  given  to  account 
for  the  unequal  success  of  the  two  friends.  Charles  had  lost 
some  time  by  his  father's  death,  and  family  matters  consequent 
upon  it ;  and  his  virtual  rustication  for  the  last  six  months  had 
been  a  considerable  disadvantage  to  him.  Moreover,  though  he 
had  been  a  careful,  persevering  reader,  he  certainly  had  not  run 
the  race  for  honors  with  the  same  devotion  as  Sheffield  ;  nor  had 
his  religious  difficulties,  particularly  his  late  indecision  about  pre- 
senting himself  at  all,  been  without  their  serious  influence  upon 
his  attention  and  his  energy.  As  success  had  not  been  the  first 
desire  of  his  soul,  so  failure  was  not  his  greatest  misery.  He 
would  have  much  preferred  success  ;  but  in  a  day  or  two  he  found 
he  could  well  endure  the  want  of  it. 

Now  came  the  question  about  his  degree,  which  could  not  be 
taken  without  subscription  to  the  Articles.  Another  consulta- 
tion followed  with  Carlton.  There  was  no  need  of  his  becom- 
ing a  B.  A.  at  the  moment ;  nothing  would  be  gained  by  it ; 
better  that  he  should  postpone  the  step.  He  had  but  to  go 
down,  and  say  nothing  about  it ;  no  one  would  be  the  wiser  ; 
and  if,  at  the  end  of  six  months,  as  Carlton  sanguinely  antici- 
pated, he  found  himself  in  a  more  comfortable  frame  of  mind, 
then  let  him  come  up,  and  set  all  right. 

What  was  he  to  do  with  himself  at  the  moment  ?  There  was 
little  difficuUy  here  either,  what  to  propose.  He  had  better  be 
reading  with  some  clergyman  in  the  country ;  thus  he  would  at 
once  be  preparing  for  orders,  and  clearing  his  mind  on  the  points 
which  at  present  troubled  him ;  besides,  he  might  thus  have  some 
opportunity  for  parochial  duty,  which  would  have  a  tranquilliz- 
ing and  sobering  effect  on  his  mind.  As  to  the  books  to  which 
he  should  give  his  attention,  of  course  the  choice  would  rest  with 
the  clergyman  who  was  to  guide  him  ;  but  for  himself  he  would 
not  recommend  the  usual  works  in  controversy  with  Rome,  for 
which  the  Anglican  Church  was  famous ;  rather  those  which 
are  of  a  positive  character,  which  treated  subjects  philosophi- 
cally, historically,  or  doctrinally,  and  displayed  the  peculiar  prin- 
ciples of  that  Church ;  Hooker's  great  work,  for  instance ;  or 
Bull's  Defensio  and  Harmonia,  or  Pearson's  VindicicBy  or  Jack 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  197 

son  on  the  Creed,  a  noble  work ;  to  which  Laud  on  Tradition 
might  be  added,  though  its  form  was  controversial.  Such,  too, 
were  Bingham's  Antiquities,  Waterland  on  the  Use  of  Antiquity, 
Wall  on  Infant  Baptism,  and  Palmer  on  the  Liturgy.  Nor 
ought  he  to  neglect  practical  and  devotional  authors,  as  Bishops 
Taylor,  Wilson,  and  Home.  The  most  important  point  re- 
mained; whither  was  he  to  betake  himself?  did  he  know  of  any 
clergyman  in  the  country,  who  would  be  willing  to  receive  him 
as  a  friend  and  a  pupil  ?  Charles  thought  of  Campbell,  with 
whom  he  was  on  the  best  of  terms  ;  and  Carlton  knew  enough 
of  him  by  reputation,  to  be  perfectly  sure  that  he  could  not  be 
in  safer  hands. 

Charles,  in  consequence,  made  the  proposal  to  him,  and  it  was 
accepted.  Nothing  then  remained  for  him,  but  to  pay  a  few 
bills,  to  pack  up  some  books  which  he  had  left  in  a  friend's  room, 
and  then  to  bid  adieu,  at  least  for  a  time,  to  the  cloisters  and 
groves  of  the  University.  He  quitted  in  June,  when  every 
thing  was  in  that  youthful  and  fragrant  beauty  which  he  had 
admired  so  much  in  the  beginning  of  his  residence  three  years 
before. 

17* 


PART    III. 
CHAPTER    I. 

But  now  we  must  look  forward,  not  back.  Once  before  we 
took  leave  to  pass  over  nearly  two  years  in  the  life  of  the .  sub- 
ject of  this  narrative,  and  now  a  second  and  a  dreary  space  of 
more  than  the  same  length  shall  be  consigned  to  oblivion,  and 
the  reader  shall  be  set  down  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  next  but 
one  after  that  in  which  Charles  took  his  class  and  did  not  take 
his  degree. 

At  this  time  our  interest  is  confined  to  Boughton  and  the  Rec- 
tory at  Sutton.  As  to  Melford,  friend  Bateman  had  accepted 
the  incumbency  of  a  church  in  a  manufacturing  town  with  a 
district  of  10,000  souls,  where  he  was  full  of  plans  for  the  in- 
troduction of  the  surplice  and  gilt  candlesticks  among  his  peo- 
ple. Willis  also  was  gone,  on  a  diflferent  errand :  he  had  bid 
adieu  to  his  mother  and  brother  soon  after  Charles  had  gone 
into  the  schools,  and  now  was  Father  Aloysius  de  Sancta  Cruce 
in  the  Passionist  Convent  of  Pennington. 

One  evening,  at  the  end  of  September,  in  the  year  aforesaid, 
Campbell  had  called  at  Boughton,  and  was  walking  in  the  garden 
with  Miss  Reding.  -  "  Really,  Mary,"  he  said  to  her,  "  I  don't 
think  it  does  any  good  to  keep  him.  The  best  years  of  his  life 
are  going,  and,  humanly  speaking,  there  is  not  any  chance  of  his 
changing  his  mind,  at  least  till  he  has  made  a  trial  of  the  Church 
of  Rome.  It  is  quite  possible  that  experience  may  drive  him 
back."  "  It  is  a  dreadful  dilemma,"  she  answered  ;  "  how  can 
we  even  indirectly  give  him  permission  to  take  so  fatal  a  step  ?  " 
"  He  is  a  dear  good  fellow,"  he  made  reply ;  "  he  is  a  sterling 
fellow ;  all  this  long  time  that  he  has  been  with  me,  he  has 
made  no  difficulties ;  he  has  read  thoroughly  the  books  that  I 
recommended  and  more,  and  done  whatever  I  told  him.  You 
know  I  have  employed  him  in  the  parish ;  he  has  taught  the 
Catechism  to  the  children,  and  been  almoner.  Poor  fellow,  his 
health  is  suffering  now ;  he  sees  there's  no  end  of  it,  and  hope 
deferred  makes  the  heart  sick."     "  It  is  so  dreadful  to  give  any 

(198) 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  199 

countenance  to  what  is  so  very  wrong,"  said  Mary.  "  Why, 
what  is  to  be  done  ?  "  answered  Campbell ;  "  and  we  need  not 
countenance  it ;  he  can't  be  kept  in  leading  strings  forever,  and 
there  has  been  a  kind  of  bargain.  He  wanted  to  make  a  move  at 
the  end  of  the  first  year ;  I  didn't  think  it  worth  while  to  fidget 
you  about  it ;  but  I  quieted  him.  We  compounded  in  this  way : 
he  removed  his  name  from  the  college  boards,  —  there  was  not 
the  slightest  chance  of  his  ever  signing  the  Articles,  —  and  he 
consented  to  wait  another  year.  Now  the  time's  up,  and  more, 
and  he  is  getting  impatient.  So  it's  not  we  who  shall  be  giving 
him  countenance,  it  will  only  be  his  leaving  us."  "  But  it  is  so 
fearful,"  insisted  Mary ;  "  and  my  poor  mother  —  I  declare  I 
think  it  will  be  her  death."  "  It  will  be  a  crushing  blow,  there's 
no  doubt  of  that,"  said  Campbell ;  "  what  does  she  know  of  it  at 
present  ?  "  "I  hardly  can  tell  you,"  answered  she  ;  " she  has 
been  informed  of  it  indeed  distinctly  a  year  ago ;  but  seeing 
Charles  so  often,  and  he  in  appearance  just  the  same,  I  fear  she 
does  not  realize  it.  She  has  neyer  spoken  to  me  on  the  sub- 
ject. I  fancy  she  thinks  it  a  scruple ;  troublesome,  certainly, 
but  of  course  temporary."  "  I  must  break  it  to  her,  Mary,'* 
said  Campbell.  "  Well,  I  think  it  must  be  done,"  she  replied, 
heaving  a  sudden  sigh ;  "  and  if  so,  it  will  be  a  real  kindness  in 
you  to  save  me  a  task  to  which  I  am  quite  unequal.  But  have  a 
talk  with  Charles  first.  When  it  comes  to  the  point,  he  may 
have  a  greater  difficulty  than  he  thinks  beforehand."  And  so 
it  was  settled ;  and,  full  of  care  at  the  double  commission  with 
which  he  was  charged,  Campbell  rode  back  to  Sutton. 

Poor  Charles  was  sitting  at  an  open  window,  looking  out  upon 
the  prospect,  when  Campbell  entered  the  room.  It  was  a  beau- 
tiful landscape,  with  bold  hills  in  the  distance,  and  a  rushing 
river  beneath  him.  Campbell  came  up  to  him  without  his  per- 
ceiving it;  and  putting  his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  asked  his 
thoughts.  Charles  turned  round,  and  smiled  sadly.  "  I  am  like 
Moses  seeing  the  land,"  he  said ;  "  my  dear  Campbell,  when 
shall  the  end  be  ?  "  "  That,  my  good  Charles,  of  course  does 
not  rest  with  me,"  answered  Campbell.  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  the 
year  is  long  run  out ;  may  I  go  my  way  ?  "  "  You  can't  expect 
that  I,  or  any  of  us,  should  even  indirectly  countenance  you  in 
what,  with  all  our  love  of  you,  we  think  a  sin,"  said  Campbell. 
"  That  is  as  much  as  to  say,  *  Act  for  yourself,'  "  answered 
Charles ;    "  well,  I   am  willing."     Campbell    did    not    at   once 


200  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

reply  ;  then  he  said,  "  I  shall  have  to  break  it  to  your  poor  mother ; 
Mary  thinks  it  will  be  her  death."  Charles  dropped  his  head  on 
the  window  sill  upon  his  hands.  "  No,"  he  said  ;  "  I  trust  that 
she,  and  all  of  us,  will  be  supported."  "  So  do  I  fervently," 
answered  Campbell ;  "  it  will  be  a  most  terrible  blow  to  your 
sisters.  My  dear  fellow,  should  you  not  take  all  this  into  ac- 
count ?  Do  seriously  consider  the  actual  misery  you  are  caus- 
ing for  possible  good."  "  Do  you  think  I  have  not  considered 
it,  Campbell?  Is  it  nothing  for  one  like  me  to  be  breaking  all 
these  dear  ties^  and  to  be  losing  the  esteem  and  sympathy  of  so 
many  persons  I  love  ?  O,  it  has  been  a  most  piercing  thought ; 
but  I  have  exhausted  it,  I  have  drank  it  out.  I  have  got  fa- 
miliar with  the  prospect  now,  and  am  fully  reconciled.  Yes,  I 
give  up  home,  I  give  up  all  who  have  ever  known  me,  loved 
me,  valued  me,  wished  me  well ;  I  know  well  I  am  making  my- 
self a  byword  and  an  outcast."  "O,  my  dear  Charles,"  an- 
swered Campbell,  "  beware  of  a  very  subtle  temptation  which 
may  come  on  you  here.  I  have  meant  to  warn  you  of  it  before. 
The  greatness  of  the  sacrifice  stimulates  you;,  you  do  it  because 
it  is  so  much  to  do."  Charles  smiled.  "  How  little  you  know 
me  ! "  he  said ;  "  if  that  were  the  case,  should  I  have  waited 
patiently  two  years  and  more  ?  Why  did  I  not  rush  forward  as 
others  have  done  ?  Tovr  will  not  deny  that  I  have  acted  ration- 
ally, obediently.  I  have  put  the  subject  from  me  again  and 
again,  and  it  has  returned."  "  I'll  say  nothing  harsh  or  unkind 
of  you,  Charles,"  said  Campbell ;  "  but  it's  a  most  unfortunate 
delusion.  I  wish  I  could  make  you  take  in  the  idea  that  there 
is  the  chance  of  its  being  a  delusion."  "  Ah,  Campbell,  how 
can  you  forget  so  ?  "  answered  Charles ;  "  don't  jou  know  this  is 
the  very  thing  which  has  influenced  me  so  much  all  along  ?  I 
said,  '  Perhaps  I  am  in  a  dream.  O,  that  I  could  pinch  myself 
and  awake  ! '  You  know  what  stress  I  laid  on  my  change  of 
feeling  upon  my  dear  father's  death ;  what  I  thought  to  be  con- 
victions before,  vanished  then  like  a  cloud.  I  have  said  to  my- 
self, '  Perhaps  these  will  vanish  too.'  But  no  ;  '  the  clouds  re- 
turn after  the  rain ; '  they  come  again  and  again,  heavier  than 
ever.  It  is  a  conviction  rooted  in  me ;  it  endures  against  the 
prospect  of  loss  of  mother  and  sisters.  Here  I  sit  wasting  my 
days,  when  I  might  be  useful  in  life.  Why?  Because  this 
hinders  me.  Lately  it  has  increased  on  me  tenfold.  You  will 
be  shocked,  but  let  me  tell  you  in  contidence,  —  lately  I  have 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  ,  201 

been  quite  afraid  to  ride,  or  to  bathe,  or  to  do  any  thing  out  of 
the  way,  lest  something  should  happen,  and  I  might  be  taken 
away  with  a  great  duty  unaccomplished.  No,  by  this  time  I 
have  proved  that  it  is  a  real  conviction.  My  belief  in  the 
Church  of  Rome  is  part  of  myself ;  I  cannot  act  against  it  with- 
out acting  against  God."  "  It  is  a  most  deplorable  state  of  things 
certainly,"  said  Campbell,  who  had  begun  to  walk  up  and  down 
the  room  ;  "  that  it  is  a  delusion,  I  am  confident ;  perhaps  you 
are  to  find  it  so  just  when  you  have  taken  the  step.  You  will 
solemnly  bind  yourself  to  a  foreign  creed,  and,  as  the  words 
part  from  your  mouth,  the  mist  will  roll  up  from  before  your 
eyes,  and  the  truth  will  show  itself.  How  dreadful!"  "  I  have 
thought  of  that  too,"  said  Charles,  "  and  it  has  influenced  me  a 
great  deal.  It  has  made  me  shrink  back.  But  I  now  believe 
it  to  be  like  those  hideous  forms  which  in  fairy  tales  beset  good 
knights,  when  they  would  force  their  way  into  some  enchanted 
palace.  Recollect  the  words  in  Thalaba  — '  The  talisman  is 
faiths  If  I  have  good  grounds  for  believing,  to  believe  is  a 
duty ;  God  will  take  care  of  His  own  work.  I  shall  not  be  de- 
serted in  my  utmost  need.  Faith  ever  begins  with  a  venture, 
and  is  rewarded  with  sight."  "  Yes,  my  good  Charles,"  an- 
swered Campbell ;  "  but  the  question  is,  whether  your  grounds 
are  good.  What  I  mean  is,  that,  since  they  are  not  good,  they 
will  not  avail  you  in  the  trial.  You  will  then,  too  late,  find 
they  are  not  good,  but  delusive."  "  Campbell,"  answered  Charles, 
"  I  consider  that  all  reason  comes  from  God ;  our  grounds  must 
at  best  be  imperfect ;  but  if  they  appear  to  be  sufficient  after 
prayer,  diligent  search,  obedience,  waiting,  and  in  short,  doing 
our  part,  they  are  His  voice  calling  us  on.  He  it  is  in  that 
case,  who  makes  them  seem  convincing  to  us.  I  am  in  His 
hands.  The  only  question  is,  what  would  He  have  me  to  do  ? 
I  cannot  resist  the  conviction  which  is  upon  me.  This  last  week 
it  has  possessed  me  in  a  different  way  than  ever  before.  It  is 
now  so  strong,  that  to  wait  longer  is  to  resist  God.  Whether  I 
join  the  Catholic  Church  is  now  simply  a  question  of  days.  I 
wish,  dear  Campbell,  to  leave  you  in  peace  and  love.  There- 
fore, consent ;  let  me  go."  "  Let  you  go  !  "  answered  Camp- 
bell ;  "  certainly,  were  it  the  Catholic  Church  to  which  you  are 
going,  there  would  be  no  need  to  ask ;  but  '  let  you  go,'  how 
can  you  expect  it  from  us  when  we  do  not  think  so  ?  Think  of 
our  case,  Charles,  as  well  as  your  own  ;  throw  yoursell*  into  our 


202  ^  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

State  of  feeling.  For  myself  I  cannot  deny,  I  never  have  con- 
cealed from  you  my  convictions,  that  the  Romish  Church  is  anti- 
Christian.  She  has  ten  thousand  gifts,  she  is  in  many  respects 
superior  to  our  own  ;  but  she  has  a  something  in  her  which  spoils 
all.  I  have  no  confidence  in  her ;  and  that  being  the  case,  how 
can  I  '  let  you  go  '  to  her  ?  No  ;  it's  like  a  person  saying,  '  Let 
me  go  and  hang  myself;'  Met  me  go  sleep  in  a  fever  ward;' 
*  let  me  jump  into  that  well ; '  how  can  I  '  let  you  go  ?  ' "  "  Ah," 
said  Charles,  "  that's  our  dreadful  difference  ;  we  can't  get  farther 
than  that.  /  think  the  Church  of  Rome  the  Prophet  of  God  ; 
you,  the  tool  of  the  devil."  "  I  own,"  said  Campbell,  "  I  do  think 
that,  if  you  take  this  step,  you  will  find  yourself  in  the  hands 
of  a  Circe,  who  will  change  you,  make  a  brute  of  you."  Charles 
slightly  colored.  "  I  won't  go  on,"  added  Campbell ;  "  I  pain 
you ;  it's  no  good ;  perhaps  I  am  making  matters  worse." 
Neither  spoke  for  some  time.  At  length  Charles  got  up,  came 
up  to  Campbell,  took  his  hand,  and  kissed  it.  "  You  have  been 
a  kind,  disinterested  friend  to  me  for  two  years,"  he  said  ;  "  you 
have  given  me  a  lodging  under  your  roof;  and  now  we  are 
Boon  to  be  united  by  closer  ties.  God  reward  you  ;  but  *  let 
me  go,  for  the  day  breaketh.' "  "  It  is  hopeless,"  cried  Camp- 
bell ;  "  let  us  part  friends :  I  must  break  it  to  your  mother." 

In  ten  days  after  this  conversation,  Charles  was  ready  for  his 
journey  ;  his  room  put  to  rights  ;  his  portmanteau  strapped  ;  and 
the  gig  at  the  door,  which  was  to  take  him  the  first  stage.  He 
was  to  go  round  by  Boughton  ;  it  had  been  arranged  by  Camp- 
bell and  Mary,  that  it  would  be  best  for  him  not  to  see  his  mother 
(to  whom  Campbell  had  broken  the  matter  at  once)  till  he  took 
leave  of  her.  It  would  be  needless  pain  to  both  of  them  to 
attempt  an  interview  sooner. 

Charles  leaped  from  the  gig  with  a  beating  heart,  and  ran  up  to 
his  mother's  room.  She  was  sitting  by  the  fire  at  her  work  when 
he  entered  ;  she  held  out  her  hand  coldly  to  him,  and  he  sat 
down.  Nothing  was  said  for  a  little  while ;  then,  without  leav- 
ing off  her  occupation,  she  said,  "  Well,  Charles,  and  so  you  are 
leaving  us.  Where  and  how  do  you  propose  to  employ  yourself 
when  you  have  entered  upon  your  new  life?"  Charles  an- 
swered that  he  had  not  yet  turned  his  mind  to  the  consideration 
of  any  thing  but  the  great  step  on  which  every  thing  else  de- 
pended. There  was  another  silence  ;  then  she  said,  "  You  won't 
find  any  where  such  friends  as  you  have  had  at  home,  Charles." 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  203 

Presently  she  continued,  "  You  have  had  every  thing  in  your  fa- 
vor, Charles  ;  you  have  been  blessed  with  talents,  advantages  of 
education,  easy  circumstances  ;  many  a  deserving  young  man  has 
to  scramble  on  as  he  can."  Charles  answered,  that  he  was  deeply 
sensible  how  much  he  owed  in  temporal  matters  to  Providence,  and 
that  it  was  only  at  His  bidding  that  he  was  giving  them  up.  "  We 
all  looked  up  to  you,  Charles  ;  perhaps  we  made  too  much  of  you  ; 
well,  God  be  with  you  ;  y^u  have  taken  your  line."  Poor  Charles 
said  that  no  one  could  conceive  what  it  cost  him  to  give  up  what  was 
so  very  dear  to  him,  what  was  part  of  himself ;  there  was  nothing 
on  earth  which  he  prized  like  his  home.  "  Then  why  do  you  leave 
us  ?  "  she  said  quickly  ;  "  you  must  have  your  way ;  you  do  it, 
I  suppose,  because  you  like  it."  "  O,  really,  my  dear  mother," 
cried  he,  "  if  you  saw  my  heart !  You  know  in  Scripture  how 
people  were  obliged,  in  the  Apostles'  times,  to  give  up  all  for 
Christ."  "  We  are  heathens,  then,"  she  replied  ;  "  thank  you, 
Charles,  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  this ;  and  she  dashed  away  a 
tear  from  her  eye.  Charles  was  almost  beside  himself;  he  did 
not  know  what  to  say  ;  he  stood  up,  and  leaned  his  elbow  on  the 
mantel  piece,  supporting  his  head  on  his  hand.  "  Well,  Charles," 
she  continued,  still  going  on  with  her  work,  "  perhaps  the  day 
will  come  "  *  *  *  Her  voice  faltered  ;  "  your  dear  father  " 
*  *  *  she  put  down  her  work.  "  It  is  useless  misery,"  said 
Charles ;  "  why  should  I  stay  ?  good  by  for  the  present,  my 
dearest  mother.  I  leave  you  in  good  hands,  not  kinder,  but  bet- 
ter than  mine ;  you  lose  me,  you  gain  another.  Farewell  for  the 
present ;  we  will  meet  when  you  will,  when  you  call ;  it  will  be 
a  happy  meeting."  He  threw  himself  on  his  knees,  and  laid  his 
cheek  on  her  lap ;  she  could  no  longer  resist  him ;  she  hung 
over  him,  and  began  to  smooth  down  his  hair  as  she  had  done 
when  he  was  a  child.  At  length  scalding  tears  began  to  fall 
heavily  upon  his  face  and  neck ;  he  bore  them  for  a  while,  then 
started  up,  kissed  her  cheek  impetuously,  and  rushed  out  of  the 
room.  In  a  few  seconds  he  had  seen  and  had  torn  himself  from 
his  sisters,  and  was  in  his  gig  again  by  the  side  of  his  phlegmatic 
driver,  dancing  slowly  up  and  down  on  his  way  to  CoUumpton. 


204  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 


CHAPTER    II. 

The  reader  may  ask  whither  Charles  is  going,  and,  though  it 
would  not  be  quite  true  to  answer  that  he  did  not  know  better 
than  the  said  reader  himself,  yet  he  had  most  certainly  very  in- 
distinct notions  what  was  becoming  of  him  even  locally,  and,  like 
the  Patriarch,  "  went  out,  not  knowing  whither  he  went."  He 
had  never  seen  a  Catholic  Priest  to  know  him  in  his  life ;  never, 
except  once  as  a  boy,  been  inside  a  Catholic  church ;  he  only 
knew  one  Catholic  in  the  world,  and  where  he  was  he  did  not 
know.  But  he  knew  that  the  Passionists  had  a  Convent  in  Lon- 
don ;  and  it  was  not  unnatural  that,  without  knowing  whether 
young  Father  Aloysius  was  there  or  not,  he  should  direct  his 
course  to  San  Michaele. 

Yet,  in  kindness  to  Mary  and  all  of  them,  he  did  not  profess 
to  be  leaving  direct  for  London ;  but  he  proposed  to  betake  him- 
self to  Carlton,  who  still  resided  in  Oxford,  and  to  ask  his  advice 
what  was  to  be  done  under  his  circumstances.  It  seemed,  too,  to 
be  interposing  what  they  would  consider  a  last  chance  of  avert- 
ing what  to  them  was  so  dismal  a  calamity. 

To  Oxford,  then,  he  directed  his  course ;  and  having  some  ac- 
ci-dental  business  at  Bath,  he  stopped  there  for  the  night,  intend- 
ing to  continue  his  journey  next  morning.  Among  other  jobs, 
be  had  to  get  a  '  Garden  of  the  Soul,'  and  two  or  three  similar 
books  which  might  help  him  in  the  great  preparation  which 
awaited  his  arrival  in  London.  He  went  into  a  religious  pub- 
lisher's in  Danvers  Street  with  that  object,  and,  while  engaged 
in  a  back  part  of  the  shop  in  looking  over  a  pile  of  Catholic 
works,  which,  to  the  religious  public,  had  inferior  attractions  to 
the  glittering  volumes,  evangelical  and  Anglo- Catholic,  which 
had  possession  of  the  windows  and  principal  table,  he  heard  the 
shop  door  open,  and,  on  looking  round,  saw  a  familiar  face.  It 
was  that  of  a  young  clergyman,  with  a  very  pretty  girl  on  his 
arm,  whom  her  dress  pronounced  to  be  a  bride.  Love  was  in 
their  eyes,  joy  in  their  voice,  and  affluence  in  their  gait  and 
bearing.  Charles  had  a  faintish  feeling  come  over  him  ;  some- 
what such  as  might  beset  a  man  on  hearing  a  call  for  pork 
chops  when  he  was  seasick.  He  retreated  behind  a  pile  of 
legers  and  other  stationery,  but  they  could  not  save  him  from 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  205 

the  low,  thrilling  tones  which  from  time  to  time  passed  from  one 
to  the  other. 

"  Have  you  got  some  of  the  last  Oxford  reprints  of  standard 
works  ?  "  said  the  bridegroom  to  the  shopman.  "  Yes,  sir  ;  but 
which  set  did  you  mean  ?  '  Selections  from  old  divines,'  or  '  New 
Catholic  Adaptations  ? '  "  "  0,  not  the  Adaptations,"  answered 
he,  "they  are  extremely  dangerous;  I  mean  real  Church  of 
England  divinity  —  Bull,  Patrick,  Hooker,  and  the  rest  of 
them."  The  shopman  went  to  look  them  out.  "  I  think  it  was 
those  Adaptations,  dearest,"  said  the  lady,  "  that  the  Bishop 
warned  us  against."  "  Not  the  •  Bishop,  Louisa ;  it  was  his 
daughter."  "  O,  Miss  Primrose,  so  it  was,"  said  she ;  "  and 
there  was  one  book  she  recommended,  what  was  it  ?  "  "  Not  a 
book,  love  ;  it  was  a  speech,"  said  White  ;  "  Mr.  O'Ballaway's  at 
Exeter  Hall;  but  I  think  we  should  not  quite  like  it."  "No, 
no,  Henry,  it  was  a  book,  dear  ;  I  can't  recall  the  name."  "  You 
mean  Dr.  Crow's  *  New  Refutation  of  Popery,'  perhaps  ;  but  the 
Bishop  recommended  thatr 

The  shopman  returned.  "  O,  what  a  sweet  face  ! "  she  said, 
looking  at  the  frontispice  of  a  little  book  she  got  hold  of ;  "  do 
look,  Henry  dear;  whom  does  it  put  you  in  mind  of?"  "Why, 
it's  meant  for  St.  John  the  Baptist,"  said  Henry.  "  It's  so  like 
little  Angelina  Primrose,"  said  she,  "  the  hair  is  just  hers.  I 
wonder  it  doesn't  strike  you."  "It  does — it  does,  dearest,"  said 
he,  smiling  at  her  ;  "  but  it's  getting  late  ;  you  must  not  be  out 
much  longer  in  the  sharp  air,  and  you  have  nothing  for  your 
throat.  I  have  chosen  my  books,  while  you  have  been  gazing 
on  that  little  St.  John."  "  I  can't  think  who  it  is  so  like,"  con- 
tinued she  ;  "  O,  I  know  ;  its  Angelina's  aunt.  Lady  Constance." 
"  Come,  Louisa,  the  horses  too  will  suffer ;  we  must  return  to  our 
friends."  "  O,  there's  one  book,  I  can't  recollect  it ;  tell  me 
what  it  is,  Henry.  I  shall  be  so  sorry  not  to  have  got  it." 
"  Was  it  the  new  work  on  Gregorian  Chants  ?  "  asked  he.  "  Ah, 
it's  true,  I  want  it  for  the  school  children,  but  it's  not  that."  "  Is  it 
'  The  Catholic  Parsonage  ?  ' "  he  asked  again  ;  "  or,  '  Lays  of  the 
Apostles  ?  '  or,  '  The  English  Church  older  than  the  Roman  ?  ' 
or,  '  Anglicanism  of  the  Early  Martyrs  ? '  or,  '  Confessions  of  a 
Pervert  ?  '  or,  '  Eustace  Beville  ?  '  or,  '  Modified  Celibacy  ?  '  " 
"  No,  no,  no,"  said  Louisa  ;  "  dear  me,  it  is  so  stupid."  "  Well, 
now  really,  Louisa,"  he  insisted,  "  you  must  come  another  time  ; 
it  won't  do,  dearest ;  it  won't  do."  "  0,  I  recollect,"  she  said, 
18 


206  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

«  I  recollect  —  '  Abbeys  and  Abbots  ;'  I  want  to  get  some  hints 
for  improving  the  rectory  windows,  when  we  get  home  ;  and  our 
church  wants,  you  know,  a  porch  for  the  poor  people.  The  book 
is  full  of  designs."  The  book  was  found,  and  added  to  the  rest, 
which  had  been  already  taken  to  the  carriage.  "  Now,  Louisa," 
said  White.  "  Well,  dearest,  there's  one  more  place  we  must 
call  at,"  she  made  answer  ;  "  tell  John  to  drive  to  Sharp's  ;  we 
can  go  round  by  the  Nursery  —  it's  only  a  few  steps  out  of  the 
way  —  I  want  to  say  a  word  to  the  man  there  about  our  green- 
house ;  there  is  no  good  gardener  in  our  own  neighborhood." 
"  What  is  the  good,  Louisa,  now  ?  "  said  her  husband  ;  "  we 
sha'n't  be  home  this  month  to  come  ;  "  and  then,  with  due  resig- 
nation, he  directed  the  coachman  to  the  nurseryman's  whom 
Louisa  named,  as  he  put  her  into  the  carriage,  and  then  fol- 
lowed her. 

Charles  breathed  freely  as  they  went  out ;  a  severe  text  of 
Scripture  rose  on  his  mind,  but  he  repressed  the  censorious  or  un- 
charitable feeling,  and  turned  himself  to  the  anxious  duties  which 
lay  before  him. 


CHAPTER    III 


Nothing  happened  to  Charles  worth  relating  before  his  ar- 
rival at  Steventon  next  day ;  when,  the  afternoon  being  fine,  he 
left  his  portmanteau  to  follow  him  by  the  omnibus,  and  put  him- 
self upon  the  road.  If  it  required  some  courage  to  undertake 
by  himself  a  long  journey  on  an  all-momentous  errand,  it  did 
not  lessen  the  difficulty  that  that  journey  took  in  its  way  a  place 
and  a  person  so  dear  to  him  as  Oxford  and  Carlton. 

He  had  passed  through  Bagley  Wood,  and  the  spires  and 
towers  of  the  University  came  on  his  view,  hallowed  by  how 
many  tender  associations,  lost  to  him  for  two  whole  years,  sudden- 
ly recovered  —  recovered  to  be  lost  forever !  There  lay  old 
Oxford  before  him,  with  its  hills  as  gentle  and  its  meadows  as 
green  as  ever.  At  the  first  view  of  that  beloved  place,  he  stood 
still  with  folded  arms,  unable  to  proceed.  Each  college,  each 
church,  he  counted  them  by  their  pinnacles  and  turrets.  The 
silver  Isis,  the  gray  willows,  the  far-stretching  plains,  the  dark 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  207 

groves,  the  distant  range  of  Shotover,  the  pleasant  village  where 
he  had  lived  with  Carlton  and  Sheffield  —  wood,  water,  stone,  all 
so  calm,  so  bright,  they  might  have  been  his,  but  his  they  were 
not.  Whatever  he  was  to  gain  by  becoming  a  Catholic,  this  he 
had  lost ;  whatever  he  was  to  gain  higher  and  better,  at  least 
this  and  such  as  this  he  never  could  have  again.  He  could  not 
have  another  Oxford,  he  could  not  have  the  friends  of  his  boy- 
hood and  youth  in  the  choice  of  his  manhood.  He  mounted  the 
well-known  gate  on  the  left,  and  proceeded  down  into  the  plain. 
There  was  no  one  to  greet  him,  to  sympathize  with  him  ;  there 
was  no  one  to  believe  he  needed  sympathy ;  no  one  to  believe  he 
had  given  up  any  thing  ;  no  one  to  take  interest  in  him,  to  feel  ten- 
der towards  him,  to  defend  him.  He  had  suffered  much,  but  there 
was  no  one  to  believe  that  he  had  suifered.  He  would  be  thought 
to  be  inflicting  merely,  not  undergoing,  suffering.  He  might  say 
that  he  had  suffered  ;  but  he  would  be  rudely  told,  that  every  one 
follows  his  own  will,  and  that  if  he  had  given  up  Oxford,  it  was  for 
a  whim  which  he  liked  better  than  it.  But  rather,  there  was  no 
one  to  know  him  ;  he  had  been  virtually  three  years  away ; 
three  years  is  a  generation;  Oxford  had  been  his  place  once,  but 
his  place  knew  him  no  more.  He  recollected  with  what  awe  and 
transport  he  had  at  first  come  to  the  University  as  to  some  sacred 
shrine  ;  and  how  from  time  to  time  hopes  had  come  over  him 
that  some  day  or  other  he  should  have  gained  a  title  to  residence 
on  one  of  its  ancient  foundations.  One  night,  in  particular,  came 
across  his  memory,  how  a  friend  and  he  had  ascended  to  the  top 
of  one  of  its  many  towers  with  the  purpose  of  making  observa- 
tions on  the  stars  ;  and  how,  while  his  friend  was  busily  engaged 
with  the  pointers,  he,  earthly-minded  youth,  had  been  looking 
down  into  the  deep,  gaslit,  dark-shadowed  quadrangles,  and  won- 
dering if  he  should  ever  be  Fellow  of  this  or  that  College,  which 
he  singled  out  from  the  mass  of  academical  buildings.  All  had 
passed  as  a  dream,  and  he  was  a  stranger  where  he  had  hoped 
to  have  had  a  home. 

He  was  drawing  near  Oxford ;  he  saw  along  the  road  before 
him  brisk  youths  pass,  two  and  two,  with  elastic  tread,  finishing 
their  modest  daily  walk,  and  nearing  the  city.  What  had  been 
a  tandem  a  mile  back,  next  crossed  his  field  of  view,  shorn  of 
its  leader.  Presently  a  stately  cap  and  gown  loomed  in  the  dis- 
tance ;  he  had  gained  the  road  before  it  crossed  him  ;  it  was  a 
college  tutor  whom  he  had  known  a  little.     Charles  expected  to 


208  LOSS    AND    GATN. 

be  recognized  ;  but  the  resident  passed  by  with  that  half-conscious, 
uncertain  gaze  which  seemed  to  have  some  memory  of  a  face 
which  yet  was  strange.  He  had  passed  Folly  Bridge  ;  troops  of 
horsemen  overtook  him,  talking  loud,  while  with  easy  jaunty  .pace 
they  turned  into  their  respective  stables.  He  crossed  to  Christ 
Church,  and  penetrated  to  Peckwater.  The  evening  was  still 
bright,  and  the  gas  was  lighting.  Groups  of  young  men  were 
stationed  here  and  there,  the  greater  number  in  hat,  a  few  in 
caps,  one  or  two  with  gowns  in  addition.  Some  were  hallooing 
up  to  their  companions  at  the  windows  of  the  second  story  ;  scouts 
were  carrying  about  CBger  dinners ;  pastry-cook  boys  were  bring- 
ing in  desserts  ;  shabby  fellows  with  Blenheim  puppies  were  loi- 
tering under  Canterbury  Gate.  Many  stared,  but  no  one  knew 
him.  He  hurried  up  Oriel  Lane  ;  suddenly  a  start  and  a  low 
bow  from  a  passer  by  ;  who  could  it  be  ?  it  was  a  superannuated 
shoeblack  of  his  college,  to  whom  he  had  sometimes  given  a  stray 
shilling.  He  gained  the  High  street,  and  turned  down  towards 
the  Angel.  What  was  approaching  ?  the  vision  of  a  proctor. 
Charles  felt  an  instinctive  quivering;  but  it  passed  by  him,  and 
did  no  harm.  Like  Kehama,  he  had  a  charmed  life.  And  now 
he  had  reached  his  inn,  where  he  found  his  portmanteau  all  ready 
for  him.  He  chose  a  bed  room,  and,  after  fully  inducting  himself 
into  it,  turned  his  thoughts  towards  dinner. 

He  wished  to  lose  no  time,  but,  if  possible,  to  proceed  to  Lon- 
don the  following  morning.  It  would  be  a  great  point  if  he  could 
get  to  his  journey's  end  so  early  in  the  week,  that  by  Sunday,  if 
he  was  thought  worthy,  he  might  offer  up  his  praises  for  the 
mercies  vouchsafed  to  him,  in  the  great  and  holy  communion  of 
the  Universal  Church.  Accordingly  he  determined  to  make  an 
attempt  on  Carlton  that  evening ;  and  hoped,  if  he  went  to  his 
room  between  seven  and  eight,  to  find  him  returned  from  Com- 
mon Room.  With  this  intention  he  salHed  out  at  about  the  half 
hour,  gained  Carlton's  college,  knocked  at  the  gate,  entered, 
passed  on,  up  the  worn  wooden  steep  staircase.  The  oak  was 
closed  ;  he  descended,  found  a  servant ;  "  Mr.  Carlton  was  giving 
a  dinner  in  Common  Room  ;  it  would  soon  be  over."  Charles 
determined  to  wait  for  him. 

The  servant  lighted  candles  in  the  inner  room ;  and  Charles 
sat  down  at  the  fire.  For  a  while  he  sat  in  reflection  ;  then  he 
looked  about  for  something  to  occupy  him.  His  eye  caught  an 
Oxford  paper  ;  it  was  but  a  few  days  old.     "  Let  us  see  how  the 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  209 

old  place  goes  on,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  took  it  up.  Ho 
glanced  from  one  article  to  another,  looking  who  were  the  Uni- 
versity preachers  of  the  week,  who  had  taken  degrees,  who  were 
public  examiners,  &c.,  &c..  when  his  eye  was  arrested  by  the  fol- 
lowing paragraph  : 

"  Defection  from  the  Church.  —  We  understand  that 
another  victim  has  lately  been  added  to  the  list  of  those  whom 
the  venom  of  Tractarian  principles  has  precipitated  into  the 
bosom  of  the  Sorceress  of  Rome.  Mr.  Reding  of  St.  Savior's, 
the  son  of  a  respectable  clergyman  of  the  Establishment,  deceased, 
after  eating  the  bread  of  the  Church  all  his  life,  has  at  length 
avowed  himself  the  subject  and  slave  of  an  Italian  Bishop. 
Disappointment  in  the  schools  is  said  to  have  been  the  determin- 
ing cause  of  this  infatuated  act.  It  is  reported  that  legal  meas- 
ures are  in  progress  for  directing  the  penalties  of  the  Statute  of 
Praemunire  against  all  the  seceders  ;  and  a  proposition  is  on  foot 
for  petitioning  her  Majesty  to  assign  the  sum  thereby  realized  by 
the  Government,  to  the  erection  of  a  '  Martyrs'  Memorial '  in 
the  sister  University." 

"  So,"  thought  Charles,  "  the  world,  as  usual,  is  beforehand 
with  me  ;"  and  he  sat  speculating  about  the  origin  of  the  report, 
till  he  almost  forgot  that  he  was  waiting  for  Carlton. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


While  Charles  was  learning  in  Carlton's  rooms  the  interest 
which  the  world  took  in  his  position  and  acts,  he  was  actually 
furnishing  a  topic  of  conversation  to  that  portion  of  it  which  was 
assembled  in  social  meeting  in  the  neighboring  Common  Room. 
Tea  and  coffee  had  made  their  appearance,  the  guests  had  risen 
from  table,  and  were  crowding  round  the  fire.  "  Who  is  that  Mr. 
Reding,  spoken  of  in  the  '  Gazette  '  of  last  week  ?  "  said  a  prim 
little  man,  sipping  his  tea  with  his  spoon,  and  rising  on  his  toes 
as  he  spoke.  "  You  need  not  go  far  for  an  answer,"  said  his 
neighbor,  and,  turning  to  their  host,  added,  "  Carlton,  who  is  Mr. 
Reding  ?  "  "A  very  dear  honest  fellow,"  answered  Carlton  ;  "  I 
wish  we  were  all  of  us  as  good.  He  read  with  me  one  Long  Va 
18* 


21-0  LOSS   AND   GAIN. 

cation,  is  a  good  scholar,  and  ought  to  have  gained  his  class.  1 
have  not  heard  of  him  for  some  time."  "  He  has  other  friends 
in  the  room,"  said  another :  "  I  think,"  turning  to  a  young  Fellow 
of  Leicester,  '•'•you,  Sheffield,  were  at  one  time  intimate  with  Re- 
ding." "  Yes,"  answered  Sheffield ;  "  and  Vincent  of  course 
knows  him  too ;  he's  a  capital  fellow ;  I  know  him  exceedingly- 
well  ;  what  the  '  Gazette '  says  about  him  is  shameful.  I  never 
met  a  man  who  cared  less  about  success  in  the  schools  ;  it  was 
quite  his  fault.''  "  That's  about  the  truth,"  said  another ;  "  I  met 
Mr.  Malcolm  yesterday  at  dinner,  and  it  seems  he  knows  the 
family.  He  said  that  his  religious  notions  carried  Reding  away, 
and  spoiled  his  reading." 

The  conversation  was  not  general ;  it  went  on  in  detached 
gxoups,  as  the  guests  stood  together.  Nor  was  the  subject  a  pop- 
ular one  ;  rather  it  was  either  a  painful  or  a  disgusting  subject 
to  the  whole  party,  two  or  three  curious  and  hard  minds  except- 
ed, to  whom  opposition  to  Catholicism  was  meat  and  drink.  Be- 
sides, in  such  chance  collections  of  men,  no  one  knew  exactly  his 
neighbor's  opinion  about  it ;  and,  as  in  this  instance,  there  were 
often  friends  of  the  accused  or  calumniated  present.  And  more- 
over, there  was  a  generous  feeling,  and  a  consciousness  how  much 
seceders  from  the  Anglican  Church  were  giving  up,  which  kept 
down  any  disrespectful  mention  of  them. 

"  Are  you  to  do  much  in  the  schools  this  term  ?  "  said  one  to 
another.  "  I  don't  know  ;  we  have  two  men  going  up,  good 
scholars."  "  Who  has  come  into  Stretton's  place  ?  "  "  Jackson 
of  King's."  "  Jackson  ?  indeed  ;  he's  strong  in  science,  I  think." 
"  Very."  "  Our  men  know  their  books  well,  but  I  should  not 
say  that  science  is  their  line."  "  Leicester  sends  four."  "  It  will 
be  a  large  class  list,  from  what  I  hear."  "  Ah !  indeed !  the 
Michaelmas  paper  is  always  a  good  one." 

Meanwhile  the  conversation  was  in  another  quarter  dwelling 
upon  poor  Charles.  "  No,  depend  upon  it,  there's  more  in  what 
the  *  Gazette  '  says  than  you  think.  Disappointment  is  generally 
at  the  bottom  of  these  changes."  "  Poor  devils  !  they  can't  help 
it,"  said  another  in  a  low  voice,  to  his  neighbor.  "  A  good  rid- 
dance, any  how,"  said  the  party  addressed  ;  "  we  shall  have  a  lit- 
tle peace  at  last."  "  Well,"  said  the  first  of  the  two,  drawing 
himself  up  and  speaking  in  the  air,  "  how  any  educated  man 
should  "  —  his  voice  was  overpowered  by  the  grave  enunciation 
of  a  small  man  behind  them,  who  had  hitherto  kept  silence,  and 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  211 

now  spoke  with  positireness.  He  addressed  himself,  between 
the  two  heads  which  had  been  just  talking  in  private,  to  the  group 
beyond  them.  "  It's  all  the  effect  of  rationalism,"  he  said ;  "  the 
whole  movement  is  rationalistic.  At  the  end  of  three  years,  all 
those  persons  who  have  now  apostatized  will  be  infidels."  No 
one  responded  ;  at  length  another  of  the  party  came  up  to  Mr. 
Malcolm's  acquaintance,  and  said  slowly,  "I  suppose  you  never 
heard  it  hinted  that  there  is  something  wrong  here  in  Mr.  Reding," 
touching  his  forehead  significantly  ;  "  I  have  been  told  it's  in  the 
family."  He  was  answered  by  a  deep,  powerful  voice,  belonging 
to  a  person  who  sat  in  the  corner  ;  it  sounded  like  "  the  great  bell 
of  Bow,"  a^  if  it  ought  to  have  closed  the  conversation.  It  said 
abruptly,  "  I  respect  him  uncommonly  ;  I  have  an  extreme  re- 
spect for  him.  He's  an  honest  man ;  I  wish  others  were  as  hon- 
est. If  they  were,  then,  as  the  Pisseyites  are  becoming  Catholics, 
80  we  should  see  old  Brownside  and  his  clique  becoming  Unita- 
rians.    But  they  mean  to  stick  in." 

Most  persons  present  felt  the  truth  of  his  remark,  and  a  silence 
-followed  it  for  a  while.  It  was  broken  by  a  clear  cackling  voice. 
"  Did  you  ever  hear,"  said  he,  nodding  his  head,  or  rather  his 
whole  person,  as  he  spoke,  "  did  you  ever,  Shefl&eld,  happen  to 
hear  that  this  gentleman,  your  friend  Mr.  Reding,  when  he  was 
quite  a  freshman,  had  a  conversation  with  some  attache  of  the 
Popish  Chapel  in  this  place,  at  the  very  door  of  it,  after  the  men 
were  gone  down  ? "  "  Impossible,  Fusby,"  said  Carlton,  and 
laughed.  "It's  quite  true,"  returned  Fusby  ;  "  I  had  it  from  the 
Under  Marshal,  who  was  passing  at  the  moment.  My  eye  has 
been  on  Mr.  Reding  for  some  years."  "  So  it  seems,"  said  Shef- 
field, "  for  that  must  have  been  at  least,  let  me  see,  five  or  six 
years  ago."  *'  O,"  continued  Fu^by,  "  there  are  two  or  three 
more  yet  to  come ;  you  will  see."  "  Why,  Fusby,"  said  Vincent, 
•overhearing  and  coming  up,  "  you  are  like  the  three  old  crones 
in  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor,  who  wished  to  have  the  straiking 
of  the  Master  of  Ravenswood."  Fusby  nodded  his  person,  but 
made  no  answer.  "  Not  all  three  at  once,  I  hope,"  said  Sheffield. 
"  O,  it's  quite  a  concentration,  a  quintessence  of  Protestant  feel- 
ing," answered  Vincent ;  "  I  consider  myself  a  good  Protestant ; 
but  the  pleasure  you  have  in  hunting  these  men  is  quite  sensual, 
Fusby."  The  Common  Room  man  here  entered,  and  whispered 
to  Carlton  that  a  stranger  was  waiting  for  him  in  his  rooms. 

"  When  d-o  your  men  come   up  ?  "  said   Sheffield  to  Vincent. 


212  LOSS   AND   GAIN. 

"  Next  Saturday,"  answered  Vincent.  "  They  always  come  up 
late,"  said  Sheffield.  "  Yes,  the  House  met  last  week."  "  St. 
Michael's  has  met  too,"  said  Sheffield ;  "  so  have  we."  "  We 
have  a  reason  for  meeting  late,  many  of  our  men  come  from  the 
north  and  from  Ireland."  "  That's  no  reason,  with  railroads." 
"  I  see  they  have  begun  ours,"  said  Vincent ;  "  I  thought  the 
University  had  opposed  it."  "  The  Pope  has  given  in,"  said 
Sheffield,  "  so  we  may  well  do  the  same."  "  Don't  talk  of  the 
Pope,"  said  Vincent,  "  I'm  sick  of  the  Pope."  "  The  Pope  ?  " 
said  Fusby,  overhearing ;  "  have  you  heard  that  his  Holiness  is 
coming  to  England  ?  "  "  0,  O,"  cried  Vincent,  "  come,  I  can't 
stand  this.  I  must  go ;  good  night  t'you,  Carlton  :  where's  my 
gown  ?  "  "I  believe  the  Common  Room  man  has  hung  it  up 
in  the  passage  ;  but  you  should  stop  and  protect  me  from  Fusby." 
Neither  did  Vincent  turn  to  the  rescue,  nor  did  Fusby  profit  by 
the  hint;  so  poor  Carlton,  with  the  knowledge  that  he  was  wanted 
in  his  rooms,  had  to  stay  a  good  half  hour  tete-a-tete  with  the 
latter,  while  he  prosed  to  him  in  extenso  about  Pope  Gregory 
XVI.,  the  Jesuits,  suspected  men  in  the  University,  Mede  orf 
the  Apostasy,  the  Catholic  Relief  Bill,  Dr.  Pusey's  Tract  on 
Baptism,  justification,  and  the  appointment  of  the  Taylor  Pro- 
fessors. 

At  length,  however,  Carlton  was  released.  He  ran  across  the 
quadrangle  and  up  his  staircase;  flung  open  his  door,  and  made 
his  way  to  his  inner  room.  A  person  was  just  rising  to  meet 
him ;  impossible  !  but  it  was  though.  "  What  ?  Reding  !  "  he 
cried ;  "  who  would  have  thought !  what  a  pleasure !  we  were 
just —  *  *  *  What  brings  you  here?"  he  added  in  an 
altered  tone.  Then  gravely,  "  Reding,  where  are  you  ?  "  "  Not 
yet  a  Catholic,"  said  Reding.,  There  was  a  silence ;  the  answer 
conveyed  a  good  deal :  it  was  a  relief,  but  it  was  an  intimation. 
"  Sit  down,  my  dear  Reding  ;  will  you  have  any  thing  ?  have 
you  dined  ?  What  a  pleasure  to  see  you,  old  fellow  !  Are  we 
really  to  lose  you  ?  "  They  were  soon  in  conversation  on  the 
great  subject. 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  213 


CHAPTER    V. 


"  If  you  have  made  up  your  mind,  Reding,"  said  Carlton, 
"  it's  no  good  talking.  May  you  be  happy  wherever  you  are ! 
You  must  always  be  yourself;  as  a  Romanist,  you  will  still  be 
Charles  Reding."  "I  know  I  have  a  kind,  sympathizing  friend 
in  you,  Carlton.  You  have  always  listened  to  me,  never  snubbed 
me  except  when  I  deserved  it.  You  know  more  about  me  than 
any  one  else.  Campbell  is  a  dear  good  fellow,  and  will  soon  be 
dearer  to  me  still.  It  isn't  generally  known  yet,  but  he  is  to  marry 
my  sister.  He  has  borne  with  me  now  for  two  years ;  never 
been  hard  upon  me  ;  always  been  at  my  service  when  I  wanted 
to  talk  with  him.  But  no  one  makes  me  open  my  heart  as  you 
do,  Carlton  ;  you  sometimes  have  differed  from  me,  but  you 
have  always  understood  me."  "Thank  you  for  your  kind 
words,"  answered  Carlton  ;  "  but  to  me  it  is  a  perfect  mystery 
why  you  should  leave  us.  I  enter  into  your  reasons  ;  I  cannot, 
for  the  life  of  me,  see  how  you  come  to  your  conclusion."  "  To 
me,  on  the  other  hand,  Carlton,  it  is  like  two  and  two  make 
four ;  and  you  make  two  and  two  five,  and  are  astonished  that  I 
won't  agree  with  you."  "We  must  leave  these  things  to  a 
higher  power,"  said  Carlton  ;  "  I  hope  we  sha'n't  be  less  friends. 
Reding,  when  you  are  in  another  communion.  We  know  each 
other ;  these  outward  things  cannot  change  us."  Reding  sighed ; 
he  saw  clearly  that  his  change  of  religion,  when  completed, 
would  not  fail  to  have  an  effect  on  Carlton's  thoughts  of  him,  as 
on  those  of  others.  It  could  not  possibly  be  otherwise  :  he  was 
sure  himself  to  feel  different  about  Carlton. 

After  a  while,  Carlton  said  gently,  "  Is  it  quite  impossible, 
Reding,  that  now  at  the  eleventh  hour  we  may  retain  you  ?  what 
are  your  grounds?"  "Don't  let  us  argue,  dear  Carlton,"  an- 
swered Reding ;  "  I  have  done  with  argument.  Or,  if  I  must 
say  something  for  manners'  sake,  I  will  but  tell  you  that  I  have 
fulfilled  your  request.  You  bade  me  read  the  Anglican  divines ; 
I  have  given  a  great  deal  of  time  to  them,  and  I  am  embracing 
that  creed  which  alone  is  the  scope  to  which  they  converge  in 
their  separate  teaching ;  the  creed  which  upholds  the  divinity 
of  tradition  with  Laud,  consent  of  Fathers  with  Beveridge,  a 
visible  Church  with  Brarahall,  a  tribunal  of  dogmatic  decisions 
with  Bull,  the  authority  of  the  Pope  with  Thorndike,  penance 


214  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

with  Taylor,  prayers  for  the  dead  with  Usher,  celibacy,  asceti- 
cism, ecclesiastical  discipline  with  Bingham.  I  seek  a  Church 
which  in  these,  and  a  multitude  of  other  points,  is  nearer  the 
apostolic  Church  than  any  existing  one  ;  which  is  the  continua- 
tion of  the  apostolic  Church,  if  it  has  been  continued  at  all. 
And  seeing  it  to  be  like  the  Apostolic  Church,  I  believe  it  to  be 
the  same.     Reason  has  gone  first,  faith  is  to  follow." 

He  stopped,  and  Carlton  did  not  reply  ;  a  silence  ensued,  and 
Charles  at  length  broke  it.  "  I  repeat,  it's  no  use  arguing ;  I 
have  made  up  my  mind,  and  been  very  slow  about  it.  I  have 
broken  it  to  my  mother,  and  bade  her  farewell.  All  is  de- 
termined ;  I  cannot  go  back."  "  Is  that  a  nice  feehng  ? "  said 
Carlton  half  reproachfully.  "Understand  me,"  answered  Re- 
ding ;  "  I  have  come  to  my  resolution  with  great  deliberation. 
It  has  remained  on  my  mind  as  a  mere  intellectual  conclusion 
for  a  year  or  two ;  surely  now  at  length  without  blame  I  may 
change  it  into  a  practical  resolve.  But  none  of  us  can  answer 
that  those  habitual  and  ruling  convictions,  on  which  it  is  our 
duty  to  act,  will  remain  before  our  consciousness  every  moment, 
when  we  come  into  the  hurry  of  the  world,  and  are  assailed  by 
inducements  and  motives  of  various  kinds.  Therefore  I  say 
that  the  time  of  argument  is  past ;  I  act  on  a  conclusion  already 
drawn."  "  But  how  do  you  know,"  asked  Carlton,  "  but  what 
you  have  been  unconsciously  biased  in  arriving  at  it  ?  one  no- 
tion has  possessed  you,  and  you  have  not  been  able  to  shake  it 
off.  The  ability  to  retain  your  convictions  in  the  bustle  of  life 
is  to  my  mind  the  very  test,  the  necessary  test  of  their  reality." 
"I  do,  I  do  retain  them,"  answered  Reding;  "they  are  always 
upon  me."  "  Only  at  times,  as  you  have  yourself  confessed," 
objected  Carlton  ;  "  surely  you  ought  to  have  a  very  strong  con- 
viction indeed,  to  set  against  the  mischief  you  are  doing  by  a 
step  of  this  kind.  Consider  how  many  persons  you  are  un- 
settling ;  what  a  triumph  you  are  giving  to  the  enemies  of  all 
religion  ;  what  encouragement  to  the  notion  that  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  truth ;  how  you  are  weakening  our  Church.  Well, 
all  I  say  is,,  that  you  should  have  very  strong  convictions  to  set 
against  all  this."  "  Well,"  said  Charles,  "  I  grant,  I  maintain, 
that  the  only  motive  which  is  sufficient  to  justify  a  move,  is  the 
conviction  that  one's  salvation  depends  on  it.  Now,  I  speak 
sincerely,  my  dear  Carlton,  in  saying,  that  I  don't  think  I  shall 
be  saved,  if  I  remain  in  the  English  Church."     "  Do  you  mean 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  215 

that  there  is  no  salvation  in  our  Church  ?  "  said  Carlton,  rather 
coldly.  "  No,  but  I  am  talking  of  myself ;  it's  not  my  place  to 
judge  others.  I  only  say,  God  calls  me,  and  I  must  follow  at 
the  risk  of  my  soul."  "  God  '  calls  *  you  !  "  said  Carlton  ; 
"  what  does  that  mean  ?  I  don't  like  it ;  it's  dissenting  language." 
"  You  know  it  is  Scripture  language,"  answered  Reding.  "  Yes, 
but  people  don't  in  Scripture  say  '  I'm  called  ; '  the  calling  was 
an  act  from  without,  the  act  of  others,  not  an  inward  feeling." 
"  But,  my  dear  Carlton,  how  is  a  person  to  get  at  truth  now, 
when  there  can  be  no  simple  outward  call  ?  "  "  That  seems  to 
me  a  pretty  good  intimation,"  answered  Carlton,  "  that  we  are 
to  remain  where  Providence  has  placed  us."  "  Now  this  is  just 
one  of  the  points  on  which  I  can't  get  at  the  bottom  of  the 
Church  of  England's  doctrine.  But  it's  so  on  so  many  other 
subjects !  it's  always  so.  Are  members  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land to  seek  the  truth,  or  have  they  it  given  them  from  the 
first  ?  do  they  seek  it  for  themselves  ?  or  is  it  ready  provided 
for  them  ?  " 

Carlton  thought  a  moment,  and  seemed  doubtful  what  to  an- 
swer; then  he  said  that  we  must  of  course  seek  it.  It  was  a 
part  of  our  moral  probation  to  seek  the  truth.  "  Then  don't 
talk  to  me  about  our  position,"  said  Charles  ;  "  I  hardly  ex- 
pected you  to  make  this  answer ;  but  it  is  what  the  majority  of 
Church  of  England  people  say.  They  tell  us  to  seek,  they  give 
us  rules  for  seeking,  they  make  us  exert  our  private  judgment ; 
but  directly  we  come  to  any  conclusion  but  theirs,  they  turn 
round  and  talk  to  us  of  our  '  providential  position.'  But  there's 
another  thing.  TeU  me,  supposing  we  ought  all  to  seek  the 
truth,  do  you  think  that  members  of  the  English  Church  do  seek 
it  in  that  way  which  Scripture  enjoins  upon  all  seekers  ?  Think 
how  very  seriously  Scripture  speaks  of  the  arduousness  of  find- 
ing, the  labor  of  seeking,  the  duty  of  thirsting  after  the  truth  ? 
I  don't  believe  the  bulk  of  the  English  clergy,  the  bulk  of  Oxford 
residents.  Heads  of  houses.  Fellows  of  Colleges  (with  all  their 
good  points,  which  I  am  not  the  man  to  deny),  have  ever  sought 
the  truth.  They  have  taken  what  they  found,  and  have  used 
no  private  judgment  at  all.  Or  if  they  have  judged,  it  has  been 
in  the  vaguest,  most  cursory  way  possible ;  or  they  have  looked 
into  Scripture  only  to  find  proofs  for  what  they  were  bound  to 
subscribe,  as  undergraduates  getting  up  the  Articles.  Then 
they  sit  over  their  wine,  and  talk  about  this  or  that  friend  who 


216  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

has  *  seceded,'  and  condemn  him,  and  "  (glancing  at  the  news- 
paper on  the  table)  "  assign  motives  for  his  conduct.  Yet,  after 
all,  which  is  the  more  likely  to  be  right,  —  he  who  has  given 
years,  perhaps,  to  the  search  of  truth,  who  has  habitually  prayed 
for  guidance,  and  has  taken  all  the  means  in  his  power  to  secure 
it ;  or  they, '  the  gentlemen  of  England  who  sit  at  home  at  ease'? 
No,  no,  they  may  talk  of  seeking  the  truth,  of  private  judgment, 
as  a  duty,  but  they  have  never  sought,  they  have  never  judged  ; 
they  are  where  they  are,  not  because  it  is  true,  but  because  they 
find  themselves  there,  because  it  is  their  *  providential  position/ 
and  a  pleasant  one  into  the  bargain." 

E-eding  had  got  somewhat  excited ;  the  paragraph  in  the  news- 
paper had  annoyed  him.  But,  without  taking  that  into  account, 
there  was  enough  in  the  circumstances  in  which  he  found  him- 
self to  throw  him  out  of  his  ordinary  state  of  mind.  He  was  in 
a  crisis  of  peculiar  trial,  which  a  person  must  have  felt  to  under- 
stand. Few  men  go  to  battle  in  cool  blood,  or  prepare  without 
agitation  for  a  surgical  operation.  Carlton,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  a  quiet,  gentle  person,  who  was  not  heard  to  use  an  excited 
word  once  a  year.  The  conversation  came  to  a  stand.  At  length 
Carlton  said,  "  I  hope,  dear  Reding,  you  are  not  joining  the  Church 
of  Rome  merely  because  there  are  unreasonable,  unfeeling  per- 
sons in  the  Church  of  England."  Charles  felt  that  he  was  not 
showing  to  advantage,  and  that  he  was  giving  rise  to  the  very 
surmises  about  the  motives  of  his  conversion  which  he  was  dep- 
recating. "  It  is  a  sad  thing,"  he  said  with  something  of  self- 
reproach,  "  to  spend  our  last  minutes  in  wrangling.  Forgive  me, 
Carlton,  if  I  have  said  any  thing  too  strongly  or  earnestly." 
Carlton  thought  he  had ;  he  thought  him  in  an  excited  state ;  but 
it  was  no  use  telling  him  so ;  so  he  merely  pressed  his  offered 
hand  affectionately,  and  said  nothing. 

Presently  he  said,  dryly  and  abruptly,  "  Reding,  do  you  know 
any  Roman  Catholics  ?  "  "  No,"  answered  Reding  ;  "  Willis 
indeed,  but  I  haven't  seen  even  him  these  two  years.  It  has  been 
entirely  the  working  of  my  own  mind."  Carlton  did  not  answer 
at  once ;  then  he  said,  as  dryly  and  abruptly  as  before,  "  I  sus- 
pect, then,  you  will  have  much  to  bear  with  when  you  know 
them."  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Reding.  "  You  will  find 
them  under-educated  men,  I  suspect."  "  What  do  you  know  of 
them  ?"  said  Reding.  "  I  suspect  it,"  answered  Carlton.  "  But 
what's  that  to  the  purpose  ?  "  asked  Charles.     "  It's  a  thing  you 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  217 

should  think  of.  An  English  clergyman  is  a  gentleman  ;  you 
may  have  more  to  bear  than  you  reckon  for,  when  you  find  your- 
self with  men  of  rude  minds  and  vulgar  manners."  "  My  dear 
Carlton,  aren't  you  talking  of  what  you  know  nothing  at  all  about?  " 
"  Well,  but  you  should  think  of  it,  you  should  contemplate  it," 
said  Carlton ;  "  I  judge  from  their  letters  and  speeches,  which 
one  reads  in  the  papers."  Charles  thought  a  while ;  then  he 
said,  "  Certainly,  I  don't  like  many  things  which  are  done  and 
said  by  Roman  Catholics  just  now;  but  I  don't  see  how  all  this 
can  be  more  than  a  trial  and  a  cross  ;  I  don't  see  how  it  affects 
the  great  question."  "  No,  except  that  you  may  find  yourself  a 
fish  out  of  water,"  answered  Carlton  ;  "  you  may  find  yourself 
in  a  position  where  you  can  act  with  no  one,  where  you  will  be 
quite  thrown  away."  "  Well,"  said  Charles,  "  as  to  the  fact,  I 
know  nothing  about  it ;  it  may  be  as  you  say,  but  I  don't  think 
much  of  your  proof.  In  all  communities  the  worst  is  on  the  out- 
side. What  offends  me  in  Cathohc  public  proceedings  need  be 
no  measure,  nay,  I  believe  cannot  be  a  measure,  of  the  inward 
Catholic  mind.  I  would  not  judge  the  Anglican  Church  by  Ex- 
eter Hall,  nay,  not  by  Episcopal  Charges.  We  see  the  interior 
of  our  own  Church,  the  exterior  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  This 
is  not  a  fair  comparison."  "  But  look  at  their  books  of  devotion," 
insisted  Carlton  ;  "  they  can't  write  English."  Reding  smiled  at 
Carlton,  and  slowly  shook  his  head  to  and  fro,  while  he  said, 
"  They  write  English,  I  suppose,  as  classically  as  St.  John  writes 
Greek."  Here  again  the  conversation  halted,  and  nothing  was 
heard  for  a  while  but  the  simmering  of  the  kettle. 

There  was  no  good  in  disputing,  as  might  be  seen  from  the 
first ;  each  had  his  own  view,  and  that  was  the  beginning  and 
end  of  the  matter.  Charles  stood  up.  "  Well,  dearest  Carlton," 
he  said,  "  we  must  part ;  it  must  be  going  on  for  eleven."  He 
pulled  out  of  his  pocket  a  small  "Christian  Year."  "  You  have 
often  seen  me  with  this,"  he  continued  ;  "  accept  it  in  memory  of 
me.  You  will  not  see  me,  but  here  is  a  pledge  that  I  will  not 
forget  you,  that  I  will  ever  remember  you."  He  stopped,  much 
affected.  "  O,  it  is  very  hard  to  leave  you  all,  to  go  to  strangers,'* 
he  went  on  ;  "I  do  not  wish  it,  but  I  cannot  help  it ;  I  am  called, 
I  am  compelled."  He  stopped  again ;  the  tears  flowed  down  his 
cheeks.  "  All  is  well,"  he  said  recovering  himself,  "  all  is  well ; 
but  it's  hard  at  the  time,  and  scarcely  any  one  to  feel  for  me ; 
black  looks,  bitter  words  *  *  *  I  am  pleasing  myself,  fol- 
19 


218  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

lowing  my  own  will  *  *  *  well  *  *  * "  and  he  began 
looking  at  his  fingers  and  slowly  rubbing  his  palms  one  on  another. 
"  It  must  be,"  he  whispered  to  himself,  "  through  tribulation  to 
the  kingdom,  sowing  in  tears,  reaping  in  joy  *  *  *  "  An- 
other pause,  and  a  new  train  of  thought  came  over  him  ;  "  O," 
he  said,  "  I  fear  so  very  much,  so  very  much,  that  all  you  who 
do  not  come  forward  will  go  back.  You  cannot  stand  where  you 
are ;  for  a  time  you  will  think  you  do,  then  you  will  oppose  us, 
and  still  think  you  keep  your  ground,  while  you  use  the  same 
words  as  before ;  but  your  belief,  your  opinions  will  decline. 
You  will  hold  less.  And  then,  in  time,  it  will  strike  you  that,  in 
differing  with  Protestants,  you  are  contending  only  about  words. 
Tliey  call  us  Rationalists  ;  take  care  you  don't  fall  into  Liberalism. 
And  now,  my  dearest  Carlton,  my  one  friend  in  Oxford  who  was 
patient  and  loving  towards  me,  good  by.  May  we  meet  not  long 
hence  in  peace  and  joy.  I  cannot  go  to  you ;  you  must  come  to 
me."  They  embraced  each  other  affectionately ;  and  the  next 
minute  Charles  was  running  down  the  staircase. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


Charles  went  to  bed  with  a  bad  headache,  and  woke  with  a 
worse.  Nothing  remained  but  to  order  his  bill  and  be  off  for 
London.  Yet  he  could  not  go  without  taking  a  last  farewell  of 
the  place  itself.  He  was  up  soon  after  seven ;  and  while  the 
gownsmen  were  rising  and  in  their  respective  chapels,  he  had 
been  round  Magdalen  Walk  and  Christ  Church  Meadow.  There 
were  few  or  none  to  see  him  wherever  he  went.  The  trees  of 
the  Water  Walk  were  variegated,  as  beseemed  the  time  of  year, 
with  a  thousand  hues,  arching  over  his  head,- and  screening  his 
side.  He  reached  Addison's  Walk ;  there  he  had  been  for  the 
first  time  with  his  father,  when  he  was  coming  into  residence,  just 
six  years  before  to  a  day.  He  pursued  it,  and  onwards  still,  till 
he  came  round  in  sight  of  the  beautiful  tower,  which  at  length 
rose  close  over  his  head.  The  morning  was  frosty,  and  there 
was  a  mist ;  the  leaves  flitted  about ;  all  was  in  unison  with  the 
state  of  his  feelings.     He  reentered  the  monastic  buildings,  meet- 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  2l9 

ing  with  nothing  but  scouts  with  boxes  of  cinders,  and  old  women 
carrying  off  the  remains  of  the  kitchen.  He  crossed  to  the 
Meadow,  and  walked  steadily  down  to  the  junction  of  the  Cher- 
well  with  the  Isis ;  he  then  turned  back.  What  thoughts  came 
upon  him !  for  the  last  time !  There  was  no  one  to  see  him  ;  he 
threw  his  arms  round  the  willows  so  dear  to  him,  and  kissed 
them  ;  he  tore  off  some  of  their  black  leaves,  and  put  them  in 
his  bosom.  "  I  am  like  Undine,"  he  said,  "killing  with  a  kiss. 
No  one  cares  for  me ;  scarce  a  person  knows  me."  He  neared 
the  Long  Walk  again.  Suddenly  looking  obliquely  into  it,  he 
saw  a  cap  and  gown ;  he  looked  anxiously ;  it  was  Jennings  ; 
there  was  no  mistake ;  and  his  direction  was  towards  him.  He 
always  had  felt  kindly  towards  him,  in  spite  of  his  sternness,  but 
he  would  not  meet  him  for  the  world ;  what  was  he  to  do  ?  he 
stood  behind  a  large  elm,  and  let  him  pass  ;  then  he  set  off  again 
at  a  quick  pace.  When  he  had  got  some  way,  he  ventured  to 
turn  his  head  round ;  and  he  saw  Jennings  at  the  moment,  by 
that  sort  of  fatality  or  sympathy  which  is  so  common,  turning 
round  towards  him.  He  hurried  on,  and  soon  found  himself 
again  at  his  inn. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  though  he  had  on  the  whole  had  as 
good  success  as  Carlton  in  the  "  keen  encounter  of  their  wits  '* 
the  night  before,  it  had  left  an  unsatisfactory  effect  on  his  mind. 
The  time  for  action  was  come ;  argument  was  past,  as  he  had 
himself  said ;  and  to  recur  to  argument  was  only  to  confuse  the 
clearness  of  his  apprehension  of  the  truth.  He  began  to  ques- 
tion whether  he  really  had  evidence  enough  for  the  step  he  was 
taking,  and  the  temptation  assailed  him  that  he  was  giving  up 
this  world  without  gaining  the  next.  Carlton  evidently  thought 
him  excited  ;  what  if  it  were  true  ?  Perhaps  his  convictions 
were,  after  all,  a  dream  ;  what  did  they  rest  upon?  He  tried  to 
recall  his  best  arguments,  and  could  not.  Was  there,  after  all, 
any  such  thing  as  truth  ?  Was  not  one  thing  as  good  as  another? 
At  all  events,  could  he  not  have  served  God  well  in  his  genera- 
tion where  he  had  been  placed  ?  He  recollected  some  lines  in 
the  Ethics  of  Aristotle,  quoted  by  the  philosopher  from  an  old 
poet,  where  the  poor  outcast  Philoctetes  laments  over  his  own 
stupid  officiousness,  as  he  calls  it,  which  had  been  the  cause  of 
his  misfortunes.  Was  he  not  a  busybody  too  ?  Why  could  he 
not  let  well  alone  ?  Better  men  than  he  had  lived  and  died  in 
the  English  Church.     And  then  what  if,  as  Campbell  had  said, 


220  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

all  his  so  called  convictions  were  to  vanish  just  as  he  entered  the 
Roman  pale,  as  thej  had  done  on  his  father's  death  ?  He  began 
to  envy  Sheffield ;  all  had  turned  out  well  with  him  — a  good 
class,  a  fellowship,  merely  or  principally  because  he  had  taken 
things  as  they  came,  and  not  gone  roaming  after  visions.  He  felt 
himself  violently  assaulted ;  but  he  was  not  deserted,  not  over- 
powered. His  good  sense,  rather  his  good  Angel,  came  to  his 
aid ;  evidently  he  was  in  no  way  able  to  argue  or  judge  at  that 
moment ;  the  deliberate  conclusions  of  years  ought  not  to  be  set 
aside  by  the  troubled  thoughts  of  an  hour.  With  an  effort  he 
put  the  whole  subject  from  him,  and  addressed  himself  to  his 
journey. 

How  he  got  to  Steventon  he  hardly  recollected,  but  gradually 
he  came  to  himself,  and  found  himself  in  a  first  class  of  the 
Great  Western,  proceeding  rapidly  towards  London.  He  then 
looked  about  him  to  ascertain  who  his  fellow-travellers  were. 
The  farther  compartment  was  full  of  passengers,  who  seemed  to 
form  one  party,  talking  together  with  great  volubility  and  glee. 
Of  the  three  seats  in  his  own  part  of  the  carriage,  one  only,  that 
opposite  to  him,  was  filled.  On  taking  a  survey  of  the  stranger, 
he  saw  a  grave  person  passing  or  past  the  middle  age ;  his  face 
had  th9,t  worn  or  rather  that  un placid  appearance,  which  even 
slight  physical  suffering,  if  habitual,  gives  to  the  features,  and 
his  eyes  were  pale  from  study  or  other  cause.  Charles  thought 
he  had  seen  his  face  before,  but  he  could  not  recollect  where  or 
when.  But  what  most  interested  him  was  his  dress,  which  was 
such  as  is  rarely  found  in  a  travelling  companion.  It  was  of  a  for- 
eign character,  and,  taken  together  with  the  small  office  book  he 
held  in  his  hand,  plainly  showed  Charles  that  he  was  opposite  a 
Roman  ecclesiastic.  His  heart  beat,  and  he  felt  tempted  to  start 
from  his  seat ;  then  a  sick  feeling  and  a  sinking  came  over  him. 
He  gradually  grew  calmer,  and  journeyed  on  some  time  in  si- 
lence, longing  yet  afraid  to  speak.  At  length,  on  the  train  stop- 
ping at  the  station,  he  addressed  a  few  words  to  him  in  French. 
His  companion  looked  surprised,  smiled,  and  in  a  hesitating 
saddish  voice  said  that  he  was  an  Englishman.  Charles  made 
an  awkward  apology,  and  there  was  silence  again.  Their  eyes 
sometimes  met,  and  then  moved  slowly  off  each  other,  as  if  a  mu- 
tual reconnoitring  was  in  progress.  At  length  it  seemed  to 
strike  the  stranger  that  he  had  abruptly  stopped  the  conversation ; 
and,  after  apparently  beating  about  for  an  introductory  topic,  he 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  221 

said,  "Perhaps  I  can  read  you,  sir,  better  than  you  can  me. 
You  are  an  Oxford  man  by  your  appearance."  Charles  as- 
sented. "A  bachelor?"  He  was  of  near  Master's  standing. 
His  companion,  who  did  not  seem  in  a  humor  for  talking,  pro- 
ceeded to  various  questions  about  the  University,  as  if  out  of 
civility.  What  colleges  sent  Proctors  that  year  ?  Were  the  Tay- 
lor Professors  appointed  ?  Were  they  members  of  the  Church 
of  England  ?  Did  the  new  Bishop  of  'Bury  keep  his  headship  ? 
&c.  Some  matter-of-fact  conversation  followed,  which  came 
to  nothing.  Charles  had  so  much  to  ask ;  his  thoughts  were 
busy,  and  his  mind  full.  Here  was  a  Catholic  priest  ready  for 
his  necessities ;  yet  the  opportunity  was  likely  to  pass  away,  and 
nothing  to  come  of  it.  After  one  or  two  fruitless  efforts,  he  gave 
it  up,  and  leaned  back  in  his  seat.  His  fellow-traveller  began, 
as  quietly  as  he  could,  to  say  office.  Time  went  forward,  the 
steam  was  let  off  and  put  on ;  the  train  stopped  and  proceeded, 
and  the  office  was  apparently  finished ;  the  book  vanished  in  a 
side  pocket. 

After  a  time  Charles  suddenly  said,  "  How  came  you  to  sup- 
pose I  was  of  Oxford  ?  "  "  Not  entirely  by  your  look  and  man- 
ner, for  I  saw  you  jump  from  the  omnibus  at  Steventon  ;  but  with 
that  assistance  it  was  impossible  to  mistake."  "  I  have  heard 
others  say  the  same,"  said  Charles ;  "  yet  I  can't  myself  make  out 
how  an  Oxford  man  should  be  known  from  another."  "Not 
only  Oxford  men,  but  Cambridge  men,  are  known  by  their  ap- 
pearance ;  soldiers,  lawyers,  beneficed  clergymen  ;  indeed  every 
class  has  its  external  indications  to  those  who  can  read  them." 
"  I  know  persons,"  said  Charles,  "  who  believe  that  handwriting 
is  an  indication  of  calling  and  character."  "  I  do  not  doubt  it," 
replied  the  priest ;  "the  gait  is  another  ;  but  it  is  not  all  of  us  who 
can  read  so  recondite  a  language.  Yet  a  language  it  is,  as  really 
as  hieroglyphics  on  an  obelisk."  "  It  is  a  fearful  thought,"  said 
Charles  with  a  sigh,  "  that  we,  as  it  were,  exhale  ourselves  every 
breath  we  draw."  The  stranger  assented;  "A  man's  moral 
being,"  he  said,  "  is  concentrated  in  each  moment  of  his  life  ;  it 
lives  in  the  tips  of  his  fingers,  and  the  spring  of  his  insteps.  A 
very  little  thing  tries  what  a  man  is  made  of." 

"I  think  I  must  be  speaking  to  a  Catholic  Priest?"  said 

Charles  :  when  his  question  was  answered  in  the  affirmative,  he 

went  on  hesitatingly  to  ask  if  what  they  had  been  speaking  of  did 

not  illustrate  the  importance  of  faith  ?    "  One  did  not  see  at  fii*st 

19* 


222  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

sight,"  he  said,  "  how  it  was  rational  to  maintain  that  so  much  de- 
pended on  holding  this  or  that  doctrine,  or  a  little  more  or  a  little 
less,  but  it  might  be  a  test  of  the  heart."  His  companion  looked 
pleased ;  however,  he  observed,  that  "  there  was  no  '  more  or 
less'  in  faith  ;  that  either  we  believed  the  whole  revealed  mes- 
sage, or  really  we  believed  no  part  of  it ;  that  we  ought  to  be- 
lieve what  the  Cliurch  proposed  to  us  on  the  loordo^  the  Church." 
"Yet  surely  the  so  called  Evangelical  believes  more  than  the 
Unitarian,  and  the  High  Churchman  than  the  Evangelical,"  ob- 
jected Ciiarles.  *'  The  question,"  said  his  fellow-traveller,  "  is, 
whether  they  submit  their  reason  implicitly  to  that  which  they 
have  received  as  God's  word."  Charles  assented.  "  Would  you 
say,  then,"  he  continued,  "  that  the  Unitarian  really  believes  as 
God's  word  that  which  he  professes  to  receive,  when  he  passes 
over  and  gets  rid  of  so  much  that  is  in  that  word  ?  "  "  Certainly 
not,"  said  Charles.  "  And  why  ?  "  "  Because  it  is  plain,"  said 
Charles,  "  that  his  ultimate  standard  of  truth  is  not  the  Scrip- 
ture, but,  unconsciously  to  himself,  some  view  of  things  in  his 
mind  which  is  the  measure  of  Scripture."  "  Then  he  believes 
himself,  if  we  may  so  speak,"  said  the  priest,  "  and  not  the  ex- 
ternal work  of  God."  "  Certainly."  "  Well,  in  like  manner," 
he  continued,  "  do  you  think  a  person  can  have  real  faith  in  that 
which  he  admits  to  be  the  word  of  God,  who  passes  by,  without 
attempting  to  understand,  such  passages  as,  '  the  Church  the 
pillar  and  ground  of  the  truth  ;'  or,  '  whosesoever  sins  ye  forgive,*' 
they  are  forgiven  ; '  or,  '  if  any  man  is  sick,  let  him  call  for  the 
priests  of  the  Church,  and  let  them  anoint  him  with  oil'?" 
"  Yes,"  said  Charles ;  "  but,  in  fact,  we  do  not  profess  to  have 
faith  in  the  mere  text  of  Scripture.  You  know,  sir,"  he  added 
hesitatingly,  "  that  the  Anglican  doctrine  is  to  interpret  Scripture 
by  the  Church  ;  therefore  we  have  faith,  like  Catholics,  not  in 
Scripture  simply,  but  in  the  whole  word  committed  to  the  Church, 
of  which  Scripture  is  a  part."  His  companion  smiled ;  "  How 
many,"  he  asked,  "  so  profess  ?  But,  waving  this  question,  I  un- 
derstand what  a  Catholic  means  by  saying  that  he  goes  by  the 
voice  of  the  Church  ;  it  means,  practically,  by  the  voice  of  the 
first  priest  he  meets.  Every  priest  is  the  voice  of  the  Church. 
This  is  quite  intelligible.  In  matters  of  doctrine,  he  has  faith 
in  the  word  of  any  priest.  But  what,  where,  is  that  '  word '  of 
the  Church  which  the  persons  you  speak  of  believe  in  ?  and 
when  do  they  exercise  their  belief?     Is  it  not  an  undeniable  fact, 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  223 

that,  so  far  from  all  Anglican  clergyman  agreeing  together  in 
faith,  —  what  the  first  says,  the  second  will  unsay  ?  so  that  an 
Anglican  cannot,  if  he  would,  have  faith  in  them,  and  necessa- 
rily does,  though  he  would  not,  choose  between  them.  How, 
then,  has  faith  a  place  in  the  religion  of  an  Anglican  ?  "  "  Well," 
said  Charles,  "  I  am  sure  I  know  a  good  many  persons,  —  and  if 
you  knew  the  Church  of  England  as  I  do,  you  would  not  need 
me  to  tell  you,  —  w^ho,  from  knowledge  of  the  Gospels,  have  an 
absolute  conviction  and  an  intimate  sense  of  the  reality  of  the 
sacred  facts  contained  in  them,  which,  whether  you  call  it  faith 
or  not,  is  powerful  enough  to  color  their  whole  being  with  its  in- 
fluence, and  rules  their  heart  and  conduct  as  well  as  their  im- 
agination. I  can't  believe  that  these  persons  are  out  of  God's 
favor ;  yet,  according  to  your  account  of  the  matter,  they  have 
not  faith."  "  Do  you  think  these  persons  believe  and  prac- 
tise all  that  is  brought  home  to  them  as  being  in  Scripture  ?  '* 
asked  his  companion.  "  Certainly  they  do,"  answered  Charles, 
"as  far  as  men  can  judge."  "Then  perhaps  they  may  be  practis- 
ing the  virtue  of  faith ;  if  there  are  passages  in  it  to  which  they 
are  insensible,  as  about  the  sacraments,  penance,  and  extreme 
unction,  or  about  the  See  of  Peter,  I  should  in  charity  think  that 
these  passages  had  never  been  brought  home  or  applied  to  their 
minds  and  consciences, — just  as  a  Pope's  Bull  may  be  for  a 
time  unknown  in  a  distant  part  of  the  Church.  They  may  be 
in  involuntary  ignorance.*  Yet  I  fear  that,  taking  the  whole 
nation,  they  are  few  among  many."  Charles  said,  this  did  not 
fully  meet  the  difficulty ;  faith,  in  the  case  of  these  persons,  at 
least  was  not  faith  in  the  word  of  the  Church.  His  companion 
would  not  allow  this  ;  he  said  they  received  the  Scripture  on  the 
testimony  of  the  Church,  that  at  least  they  were  believing  the 
word  of  God,  and  the  like. 

Presently  Charles  said,  "  It  is  to  me  a  great  mystery  how 
the  English  people,  as  a  whole,  is  ever  to  have  faith  again; 
is  there  evidence  enough  for  faith  ?  "  His  new  friend  looked 
surprised  and  not  over-pleased ;  "  Surely,"  he  said,  "  in  matter 
of  fact,  a  man  may  have  more  evidence  for  believing  the  Church 
to  be  the  messenger  of  God,  than  he  has  for  believing  the  four 

*  "  Errantes  invincibiliter  circa  aliquos  articulos,  et  credentes  alios,  non  sunt 
formaliter  hseretici,  sed  habent  fidem  supernaturalem,  qua  credunt  veras  arti- 
culos, atque  adeo  ex  ea  possunt  procedere  actus  perfectae  contritionis,  quibus 
justificentur  et  salventur."  —  De  Lugo  de  Fid.,  p.  169. 


224  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

Gospels  to  be  from  God.  If,  then,  lie  already  believes  the  latter, 
why  should  he  not  believe  the  former  ? "  "  But  the  belief  in 
the  Gospels  is  a  traditional  belief,"  said  Charles  ;  "  that  makes  all 
tlie  difference.  I  cannot  see  how  a  nation  like  England,  which 
has  lost  the  faith,  ever  can  recover  it.  Hence,  in  the  matter  of 
conversion.  Providence  has  generally  visited  simple  and  barba- 
rous nations."  "  The  converts  of  the  Roman  empire  were,  I 
suppose,  a  considerable  exception,"  said  the  priest.  "  Still,  it 
seems  to  me  a  great  difficulty,"  answered  Charles  ;  "  I  do  not 
see,  when  the  dogmatic  structure  is  once  broken  down,  how  it  is 
ever  to  be  built  up  again.  I  fancy  there  is  a  passage  somewhere 
in  Carlyle's  French  Revolution  on  the  subject,  in  which  the  au- 
thor laments  over  the  madness  of  men's  destroying  what  they 
could  not  replace,  what  it  would  take  centuries  and  a  combina- 
tion of  fortunate  circumstances  to  reproduce,  an  external  re- 
ceived creed.  I  am  not  denying,  God  forbid  !  the  objectivity  of 
revelation,  or  saying  that  faith  is  a  sort  of  happy  and  expedient 
delusion ;  but,  really,  the  evidence  for  revealed  doctrine  is  so 
built  up  on  probabilities,  that  I  do  not  see  what  is  to  introduce  it 
into  a  civilized  community,  where  reason  has  been  cultivated  to 
the  utmost,  and  argument  is  the  test  of  truth.  Many  a  man  will 
say,  '  0,  that  I  had  been  educated  a  Catholic  ! '  but  he  has  not 
been  ;  and  he  finds  himself  unable,  though  wishing,  to  believe, 
for  he  has  not  evidence  enough  to  subdue  his  reason.  What  is 
to  make  him  believe  ?  "  His  fellow-traveller  had  for  some  time 
shown  signs  of  uneasiness  ;  when  Charles  stopped,  he  said  shortly, 
but  quietly,  "  What  is  to  make  him  believe  !  the  will,  his  will" 
Charles  hesitated ;  he  proceeded ;  "  If  there  is  evidence 
enough  to  believe  Scripture,  and  we  see  that  there  is,  I  repeat, 
there  is  more  than  enough  to  believe  the  Church.  The  evi- 
dence is  not  in  fault ;  all  it  requires  is  to  be  brought  home  or 
applied  to  the  mind ;  if  belief  does  not  then  follow,  the  fault  lies 
with  the  will."  "  Well,"  said  Charles,  "  I  think  there  is  a  gen- 
eral feeling  among  educated  Anglicans,  that  the  claims  of  the 
Roman  Church  do  not  rest  on  a  sufficiently  intellectual  basis  ; 
I  that  the  evidences,  or  notes,  were  well  enough  for  a  rude  age, 
not  for  this.  This  is  what  makes  me  despair  of  the  growth  of 
Catholicism."  His  companion  looked  round  curiously  at  him, 
and  then  said  quietly,  "  Depend  upon  it,  there  is  quite  evidence 
enough  for  a  moral  conviction  that  the  Catholic  or  Roman  Church, 
and  none  other,  is  the  voice  of  God."     "  Do  you  mean,"  said 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  225 

Charles,  with  a  beating  heart,  "  that  before  conversion  one  can 
attain  to  a  present  abiding  actual  conviction  of  this  truth  ? "  "I 
do  not  know,"  answered  the  other;  "but  at  least  he  may  have 
habitual  moral  certainty ;  I  mean,  a  conviction,  and  one  only, 
steady,  without  rival  conviction,  or  even  reasonable  doubt,  present 
to  him  when  he  is  most  composed  and  in  his  hours  of  solitude, 
and  flashing  on  him  from  time  to  time,  as  through  clouds,  when 
he  is  in  the  world;  —  a  conviction  to  this  effect,  'The  Roman 
Catholic  Church  is  the  one  only  voice  of  God,  the  only  way  of 
salvation.'"  "Then  you  mean  to  say,"  said  Charles,  while  his 
heart  beat  faster,  "  that  such  a  person  is  under  no  duty  to  wait 
for  clearer  light."  "  He  will  not  have,  he  cannot  expect,  clearer 
light  before  conversion.  Certainty  in  its  highest  sense  is  the 
reward  of  those  who,  by  an  act  of  the  will,  embrace  the  truth, 
when  nature,  like  a  coward,  shrinks.  You  must  make  a  venture  ; 
faith  is  a  venture  before  a  man  is  a  Catholic ;  it  is  a  grace  after 
it.  You  approach  the  Church  in  the  way  of  reason,  you  live  in 
it  in  the  light  of  the  Spirit." 

Charles  said  that  he  feared  there  was  a  great  temptation 
operating  on  many  well-informed  and  excellent  men,  to  find 
fault  with  the  evidence  for  Catholicity,  and  to  give  over  the 
search,  on  the  excuse  that  there  were  arguments  on  both  sides. 
"  It  is  not  one  set  of  men,"  answered  his  companion ;  "  it  is  the 
grievous  deficiency  in  Englishmen  altogether.  Englishmen  have 
many  gifts,  faith  they  have  not.  Other  nations,  inferior  to  them 
in  many  things,  still  have  faith.  Nothing  will  stand  in  place  of 
it ;  not  a  sense  of  the  beauty  of  Catholicism,  or  of  its  awfulness, 
or  of  its  antiquity ;  not  an  appreciation  of  the  sympathy  which 
it  show^s  towards  sinners ;  not  an  admiration  of  the  Martyrs  and 
early  Fathers,  and  a  delight  in  their  writings.  Individuals  may 
display  a  touching  gentleness,  or  conscientiousness  which  de- 
mands our  reverence ;  still,  till  they  have  faith,  they  have  not 
the  foundation,  and  their  superstructure  will  fall.  They  will  not 
be  blessed,  they  will  do  nothing  in  rehgious  matters,  till  they 
begin  by  an  act  of  unreserved  faith  in  the  word  of  God,  what- 
ever it  be ;  till  they  go  out  of  themselves ;  till  they  cease  to 
make  something  within  them  their  standard  ;  till  they  oblige  their 
will  to  perfect  what  reason  leaves,  sufficient  indeed,  but  incom- 
plete. And  when  they  shall  recognize  this  defect  in  themselves, 
and  try  to  remedy  it,  then  they  will  recognize  much  more,  they 
will  be  on  the  road  very  shortly  to  be  Catholics." 


226  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

There  was  nothing  in  all  this  exactly  new  to  Charles ;  but  it 
was  pleasant  to  hear  it  from  the  voice  of  another,  and  him  a 
priest.  Thus  he  had  sympathy  and  authority,  and  felt  he  was 
restored  to  himself.  The  conversation  stopped.  After  a  while 
he  disclosed  to  his  new  friend  the  errand  which  took  him  to  Lon- 
don, which,  after  what  Charles  had  already  been  saying,  could 
be  no  great  surprise  to  him.  The  latter  knew  the  Superior  of 
San  Michaele,  and  taking  out  a  card,  wrote  upon  it  a  few  words 
of  introduction  for  him.  By  this  time  they  had  reached  Pad- 
dington  ;  and  before  the  train  had  well  stopped,  the  priest  had 
taken  his  small  carpet  bag  from  under  his  seat,  wrapped  his 
cloak  around  him,  stepped  out  of  the  carriage,  and  was  walking  out 
of  sight  at  a  brisk  pace. 


CHAPTER     VII. 


Reding  naturally  wished  to  take  the  important  step  he  was 
meditating  as  quietlji  as  he  could ;  and  had  taken  what  he  con- 
sidered satisfactory  measures  for  this  purpose.  But  such  ar- 
rangements often  turn  out  very  differently  from  their  promise ; 
and  so  it  was  in  his  case. 

The  Passionist  House  was  in  the  eastern  part  of  London  ;  so 
far  well ;  —  and  as  he  knew  in  the  neighborhood  a  respectable 
publisher  in  the  religious  line,  with  whom  his  father  had  dealt, 
he  had  written  to  him  to  bespeak  a  room  in  his  house  for  the 
few  days  which  he  trusted  would  suffice  for  the  process  of  his 
reception.  What  was  to  happen  to  him  after  it,  he  left  for  the 
advice  he  might  get  from  those  in  whose  hands  he  found  himself. 
It  was  now  Wednesday  ;  he  hoped  to  have  two  days  to  prepare 
himself  for  his  confession,  and  then  he  proposed  to  present  him- 
self before  those  who  were  to  receive  it.  His  better  plan  would 
have  been,  to  have  gone  to  the  Religious  House  at  once  ;  where 
doubtless  the  good  fathers  would  have  lodged  him,  secured  him 
from  intrusion,  and  given  him  the  best  advice  how  to  proceed. 
But  we  must  indulge  him,  if,  doing  so  great  a  work,  he  likes  to 
do  it  in  his  own  way  ;  nor  must  we  be  hard  on  him,  though  it  be 
not  the  best  way. 

On  arriving  at  his  destination,  he  saw  in  the  deportment  of 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  227 

his  host  grounds  for  concluding  tliat  his  coming  was  not  only  ex- 
pected, but  understood.  Doubtless,  then,  the  paragraph  of  the 
"  Oxford  Gazette  "  had  been  copied  into  the  London  papers ; 
nor  did  it  relieve  his  unpleasant  surprise,  to  find,  as  he  passed 
to  his  room,  that  the  worthy  bibliopolist  had  a  reading  room 
attached  to  his  shop,  which  was  far  more  perilous  to  his  privacy 
than  a  coffee  room  would  have  been.  He  was  not  obliged, 
however,  to  mix  with  the  various  parties  who  seemed  to  frequent 
it ;  and  he  determined  as  far  as  possible  to  confine  himself  to  his 
apartment.  The  rest  of  the  day  he  employed  in  writing  letters 
to  friends;  his  conversation  of  the  morning  had  tranquillized 
him ;  he  went  to  bed  peaceful  and  happy,  slept  soundly,  rose 
late,  and,  refreshed  in  mind  and  body,  turned  his  thoughts  to  the 
serious  duties  of  the  day. 

Breakfast  over,  he  gave  a  considerable  time  to  devotional  ex- 
ercises, and  then  opening  his  writing  desk,  addressed  himself  to 
his  work.  Hardly  had  he  got  into  it,  when  his  landlord  made 
his  appearance ;  and,  with  many  apologies  for  his  intrusion,  and 
a  hope  that  he  was  not  going  to  be  impertinent,  proceeded  to 
inquire  if  Mr.  Reding  was  a  Catholic.  "  The  question  had  been 
put  to  him,  and  he  thought  he  might  venture  to  solicit  an  answer 
from  the  person  who  could  give  the  most  authentic  information." 
Here  was  an  interruption,  vexatious  in  itself,  and  perplexing  in 
the  form  in  which  it  came  upon  him  ;  it  would  be  absurd  to 
reply  that  he  was  on  the  point  of  becoming  a  Catholic,  so  he 
shortly  answered  in  the  negative.  Mr.  Mumford  then  informed 
him  that  there  were  two  friends  of  Mr.  Reding's  below,  who 
wished  very  much  to  have  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with 
him.  Charles  could  make  no  intelligible  objection  to  the  re- 
quest ;  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  their  knock  was  heard 
at  the  room  door. 

On  his  answering  it,  two  persons  presented  themselves,  ap- 
parently both  strangers  to  him.  This,  however,  at  the  moment 
was  a  relief;  for  vague  fears  and  surmises  had  begun  to  flit 
across  his  mind  as  to  the  faces  which  were  to  make  their  ap- 
pearance. The  younger  of  the  two,  who  had  round  full  cheeks, 
with  a  nose  turned  up  towards  the  right  eye,  and  a  shrill  voice, 
advanced  confidently,  and  seemed  to  expect  a  recognition.  It 
broke  upon  Charles  that  he  had  seen  him  before,  but  he  could 
not  tell  where.  ''  I  ought  to  know  your  face,"  he  said.  "  Yes, 
Mr.  Reding,"  answered  the  person  addressed,  "  you  may  recol- 


228  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

lect  me  at  College."  ''Ah,  I  remember  perfectly,"  said  Reding; 
"  Jack  the  kitchen  boy  at  St.  Savior's."  "  Yes,"  said  Jack  ;  "  I 
came  when  young  Tom  was  promoted  into  Dennis's  place." 
Then  he  added,  with  a  solemn  shake  of  the  head,  "/  have  got 
promotion  now."  "  So  it  seems.  Jack,"  answered  Reding  ;  "  but 
what  are  you  ?  Speak."  "  Ah,  sir,"  said  Jack,  "  we  must  con- 
verse in  a  tone  of  befitting  seriousness ;  "  and  he  added,  in  a 
deep,  inarticulate  voice,  his  lips  not  being  suffered  to  meet 
together,  "  Sir,  I  stand  next  to  an  Angel  now."  "  A  what  ? 
Angel  ?    O,  I  know,"  cried  Charles ;  "  it's  some  sect ;  the  Sande- 

manians  " "  Sandemanians  !  "  interrupted   Jack ;  "  we   hold 

them  in  abhorrence ;  they  are  levellers  ;  they  bring  in  disorder 
and  every  evil  work."  "  I  beg  pardon,  but  I  know  it  is  some 
sect,  though  I  don't  recollect  what.  I've  heard  about  it.  Well, 
tell  me.  Jack,  what  are  you  ? "  "I  am,"  answered  Jack,  as  if 
he  were  confessing  at  the  tribunal  of  a  Proprietor,  "  I  am  a 
member  of  the  Holy  Catholic  Church."  "  That's  right,  Jack," 
said  Reding ;  "  but  it's  not  distinctive  enough ;  so  are  we  all ; 
every  one  will  say  as  much."  "  Hear  me  out,  Mr.  Reding,  sir," 
answered  Jack,  waving  his  hand  ;  "  hear  me,  but  strike ;  I 
repeat,  I  am  a  member  of  the  Holy  Catholic  Church,  assem- 
bling in  Huggermugger  Lane."  "  Ah,"  said  Charles,  "  I  see ; 
that's  what  the  '  gods  '  call  you  ;  now,  what  do  men  ?  "  "  Men," 
said  Jack,  not  understanding,  however,  the  allusion  —  "  men  call 
us  Christians,  professing  the  opinions  of  the  late  Rev.  Edward 
Irving,  B.  D."  "  I  understand  perfectly  now,"  said  Reding ; 
"  Irvingites  —  I  recollect "  —  "  No,  sir,"  he  said,  "  not  Irving- 
ites ;  we  do  not  follow  man  ;  we  follow  wherever  the  Spirit  leads 
us  ;  we  have  given  up  Tongue.  But  I  ought  tp  introduce  you 
to  my  friend,  who  is  more  than  an  Angel,"  he  proceeded  mod- 
estly, "  who  has  more  than  the  tongue  of  men  and  angels,  being 
nothing  short  of  an  Apostle,  sir.  Mr.  Reding,  here's  the  Rev. 
Alexander  Hightly.     Mr.  Highfly,  this  is  Mr.  Reding." 

Mr.  Highfly  was  a  man  of  gentlemanlike  appearance  and 
manner  ;  his  language  was  refined,  and  his  conduct  was  delicate  ; 
so  much  so  that  Charles  at  once  changed  his  tone  in  speaking  to 
him.  He  came  to  Mr.  Reding,  he  said,  from  a  sense  of  duty ; 
and  there  was  nothing  in  his  conversation  to  clash  with  this  pro- 
fession. He  explained  that  he  had  heard  of  Mr.  Reding's  being 
unsettled  in  his  religious  views,  and  he  would  not  lose  the  oppor- 
tunity of  attempting  so  valuable  an  accession  to  the  cause  to 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  229 

which  he  had  dedicated  himself.  "  I  see,"  said  Charles,  smiling, 
"  I  am  in  the  market."  "  It  is  the  bargain  of  Glaucus  with  Dio- 
mede,"  answered  Mr.  Highfly ;  "  for  which  I  am  asking  your 
cooperation.  I  am  giving  you  the  fellowship  of  apostles."  "  It 
is,  I  recollect,  one  of  the  characteristics  of  your  body,"  said 
Charles,  "  to  have  an  order  of-  Apostles,  in  addition  to  Bishops, 
Priests,  and  Deacons."  '*  Rather,"  said  his  visitor,  "  it  is  the 
special  characteristic;  for  we  acknowledge  the  orders  of  the 
Church  of  England.  We  are  but  completing  the  Church  sys- 
tem by  restoring  the  Apostolic  College."  "  Whart  I  should  com- 
plain of,"  said  Charles,  "  were  I  at  all  inclined  to  listen  to  your 
claims,  would  be  the  very  different  views  which  different  mem- 
bers of  your  body  put  forward."  "  You  must  recollect,  sir,"  an- 
swered Mr.  Highfly,  "  that  we  are  under  divine  teaching,  and 
that  truth  is  but  gradually  communicated  to  the  Church.  We 
do  not  pledge  ourselves  what  we  shall  believe  to-morrow,  by  any 
thing  we  say  to-day."  "  Certainly,"  answered  Reding,  "  things 
have  been  said  to  me  by  your  teachers  which  I  must  suppose 
were  only  private  opinions,  though  they  seemed  to  be  more." 
"  But  I  was  saying,"  said  Mr.  Highfly,  "  that  at  present  we  are 
restoring  the  Gentile  Apostolate.  The  Church  of  England  has 
Bishops,  Priests,  and  Deacons,  but  a  Scriptural  Church  has  more  ; 
it  is  plain  it  ought  to  have  Apostles.  In  Scripture,  Apostles  had 
the  supreme  authority,  and  the  three  Anglican  orders  were  but 
subordinate  to  them."  "  I  am  disposed  to  agree  with  you  there," 
said  Charles.  Mr.  Highfly  looked  surprised  and  pleased.  ".We 
are  restoring,"  he  said,  "the  Church  to  a  more  scriptural  state; 
perhaps,  then,  we  may  reckon  on  your  cooperation  in  doing  so  ? 
We  do  not  ask  you  to  secede  from  the  Establishment,  but  to  ac- 
knowledge the  Apostolic  authority,  to  which  all  ought  to  submit." 
"  But  does  it  not  strike  you,  Mr.  Highfly,"  answered  Reding, 
"  that  there  is  a  body  of  Christians,  and  not  an  inconsiderable 
one,  which  maintains  with  you,  and,  what  is  more,  has  always 
preserved,  that  true  and  higher  Apostolic  succession  in  the  Church ; 
a  body,  I  mean,  which,  in  addition  to  Episcopacy,  believes  that 
there  is  a  standing  ordinance  above  Episcopacy,  and  gives  it  the 
name  of  the  Apostolate  ?  "  "  On  the  contrary,"  answered  Mr 
Highfly,  "  I  consider  that  we  are  restoring  what  has  lain  dor- 
mant ever  since  the  time  of  St.  Paul ;  nay,  I  will  say  it  is  an 
ordinance  which  never  has  been  carried  into  effect  at  all,  though 
it  was  in  the  divine  design  from  the  first.  You  will  observe  that 
20 


230  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

the  Apostles  were  Jews ;  but  there  never  has  been  a  Gentile 
Apostolate.  St.  Paul  indeed  was  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles,  but 
the  design  begun  in  him  has  hitherto  been  frustrated.  He  went 
up  to  Jerusalem  against  the  solemn  warning  of  the  Spirit ;  now 
we  are  raised  up  to  complete  that  work  of  the  Spirit,  which  was 
stopped  by  the  inadvertence  of  the  first  Apostle." 

Jack  interposed :  he  should  be  very  glad,  he  said,  to  know 
what  religious  persuasion  it  was,  besides  his  own,  which  Mr. 
Reding  considered  to  have  preserved  the  succession  of  Apostles, 
as  something  dMinct  from  Bishops.  "It  is  quite  plain  whom  I 
mean  —  the  Catholics,"  answered  Charles.  "  The  Popedom  is 
the  true  Apostolate,  the  Pope  is  the  successor  of  the  Apostles, 
particularly  of  St.  Peter."  "  We  are  very  well  inclined  to  the 
Roman  Catholics,"  answered  Mr.  Highfly,  with  some  hesitation ; 
"  we  have  adopted  a  great  part  of  their  ritual ;  but  we  are  not 
accustomed  to  consider  that  we  resemble  them  in  what  is  our 
characteristic  and  cardinal  tenet."  "  Allow  me  to  say  it,  Mr. 
Highfly,"  said  Reding,  "it  is  a  reason  for  every  Irvingite  —  I 
mean  every  member  of  your  persuasion  —  becoming  a  Catholic. 
Your  own  religious  sense  has  taught  you  that  there  ought  to  be 
an  Apostolate  in  the  Church.  You  consider  that  the  authority 
of  the  Apostles  was  not  temporary,  but  essential  and  fundamental. 
What  that  authority  was,  we  see  in  St.  Paul's  conduct  towards 
St.  Timothy.  He  placed  him  in  the  see  of  Ephesus,  he  sent  him 
a  charge,  and,  in  fact,  he  was  his  overseer  or  Bishop.  He  had 
the  eare  of  all  the  Churches.  Now,  this  is  precisely  the  power 
which  the  Pope  claims,  and  has  ever  claimed ;  and,  moreover, 
he  has  claimed  it,  as  being  the  successor,  and  the  sole  proper  suc- 
cessor, of  the  Apostles,  though  Bishops  may  be  improperly  such 
also.*  And  hence  Catholics  call  him  Vicar  of  Christ,  Bishop 
of  Bishops,  and  the  like ;  and,  I  believe,  consider  that  he,  in  a 
preeminent  sense,  is  the  one  pastor  or  ruler  of  the  Church,  the 
source  of  jurisdiction,  the  judge  of  controversies,  and  the  centre 
of  unity  —  as  having  the  powers  of  the  Apostles,  and  specially 
of  St.  Peter."  Mr.  Highfly  kept  silence.  "  Don't  you  think, 
then,  it  would  be  well,"  continued  Charles,  "  that,  before  coming 
to  convert  me,  you   should  first  join   the  Catholic  Church  ?  at 

*  "  Successores  sunt,  sed  ita  ut  potius  Vicarii  dicendi  sint  Apostolorum, 
quam  successores  ;  contra,  Romanus  Pontifex,  quia  verus  Petri  successor 
est,  nonnisi  per  quendara  ahusum  ejus  vicarius  diceretur." —  Zaccar.  AiUifebr 
p.  130. 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  231 

least,  you  would  urge  your  doctrine  upon  me  with  more  authority 
if  you  came  as  a  member  of  it.  And  I  will  tell  you  frankly, 
that  you  would  find  it  easier  to  convert  me  to  Catholicism  than 
to  your  present  persuasion."  Jack  looked  at  Mr.  Highfly,  as  if 
hoping  for  some  decisive  reply  to  what  was  a  new  view  to  him ; 
but  Mr.  Highfly  took  a  diflTerent  line.  "  Well,  sir,"  he  said,  "  I 
do  not  see  that  any  good  will  come  by  our  continuing  the  inter- 
view ;  but  your  last  remark  leads  me  to  observe  that  proselytism 
was  not  our  object  in  coming  here.  We  did  not  propose  more 
than  to  inform  you  that  a  great  work  was  going  on,  to  direct 
your  attention  to  it,  and  to  invite  your  cooperation.  We  do  not 
controvert ;  we  only  wish  to  deliver  our  testimony,  and  then  to 
leave  the  matter.  I  believe,  then,  we  need  not  take  up  your  val- 
uable time  longer."  With  that  he  got  up,  and  eJack  with  him, 
and,  with  many  courteous  bows  and  smiles,  which  were  duly  re- 
sponded to  by  Reding,  the  two  visitors  took  their  departure. 

"  Well,  I  might  have  been  worse  otif,"  thought  Reding ;  "  really 
they  are  gentle,  well-mannered  animals,  after  all.  I  might  have 
been  attacked  with  some  of  your  furious  Exeter  Hall  beasts  ; 
but  now  to  business.  *  *  *  What's  that?"  he  added. 
Alas,  it  was  a  soft,  distinct  tap  at  the  door ;  there  was  no  mistake. 
"  Who's  there  ?  come  in  ! "  he  cried;  upon  which  the  door  gently 
opened,  and  a  young  lady,  not  without  attractions  of  person  and 
dress,  presented  herself.  Charles  started  up  with  vexation  ;  but 
there  was  no  help  for  it,  and  he  was  obliged  to  hand  her  a  chair, 
and  then  to  wait,  all  expectation,  or  rather  all  impatience,  to  be 
informed  of  her  mission.  For  a  while  she  did  not  speak,  but  sat 
with  her  head  on  one  side,  looking  at  her  parasol,  the  point  of 
which  she  fixed  on  the  carpet,  while-  she  slowly  described  a  cir- 
cumference with  the  handle.  At  length  she  asked,  without  rais- 
ing her  eyes,  whether  it  was  true,  —  and  she  spoke  slowly,  and 
in  what  is  called  a  spiritual  tone,  —  whether  it  was  true,  the  in- 
formation had  been  given  her,  that  Mr.  Reding,  the  gentleman 
she  had  the  honor  of  addressing  —  whether  it  was  true,  that  he 
was  in  search  of  a  religion  more  congenial  to  his  feelings  than 
that  of  the  Church  of  England.  "Mr.  Reding  could  not  give 
her  any  satisfaction  on  the  subject  of  her  inquiry;"  —  he  an- 
swered shortly,  and  had  some  difficulty  in  keeping  from  rudeness 
in  his  tone.  The  interrogation,  she  went  on  to  say,  perhaps  might 
seem  impertinent ;  but  she  had  a  motive.  Some  dear  sisters  of 
hers  were  engaged  in  organizing  a  new  religious  body,  and  Mr. 


232  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

Reding's  accession,  counsel,  assistance,  would  be  particularly  val- 
uable ;  the  more  so,  because  as  yet  they  had  not  any  gentleman 
of  University  education  among  them.  "  May  I  ask,"  said  Charles, 
"  the  name  of  the  intended  persuasion  ?  "  ."  The  name,"  she  an- 
swered, "  is  not  fixed  ;  indeed,  this  is  one  of  the  points  on  which 
we  should  covet  the  privilege  of  the  advice  of  a  gentleman  so 
well  qualified  as  Mr.  Reding  to  assist  us  in  our  deliberations." 
"  And  your  tenets,  ma'am  ?  "  "  Here,  too,"  she  replied,  "  there 
is  much  still  to  be  done ;  the  tenets  are  not  fixed  either,  that 
is,  they  are  but  sketched  ;  and  we  shall  prize  your  suggestions 
much.  Nay,  you  will  of  course  have  the  opportunity,  as  you 
would  have  the  right,  to  nominate  any  doctrine  to  which  you 
may  be  especially  inclined."  Charles  did  not  know  how  to  an- 
swer to  so  Uberal  an  offer.  She  continued :  "  Perhaps  it  is  right, 
Mr.  Reding,  that  I  should  tell  you  something  more  about  myself 
personally.  I  vvas  born  in  the  communion  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land ;  for  a  while  I  was  a  member  of  the  New  Connection  ;  and  at 
present,"  she  added,  still  with  drooping  head  and  languid  singsong 
voice,  "  at  present,  I  am  a  Plymouth  brother."  It  got  too  absurd  ; 
and  Charles,  who  had  for  an  instant  been  amused,  now  became  full 
of  the  one  thought,  how  to  get  her  out  of  the  room. 

It  was  obviously  left  to  her  to  keep  up  the  conversation ;  so 
she  said  presently,  "  We  are  all  for  a  pure  religion."  "  From 
what  you  tell  me,"  said  Charles,  "  I  gather  that  every  member 
of  your  new  community  is  allowed  to  name  one  or  two  doctrines 
of  his  own."  "  We  are  all  scriptural,"  she  made  answer,  "  and 
therefore  are  all  one ;  we  may  differ,  but  we  agree.  Still  it  is 
so,  as  you  say,  Mr.  Reding.  I'm  for  election  and  assurance ;  our 
dearest  friend  is  for  perfection ;  and  another  sweet  sister  is  for 
the  second  advent.  But  we  desire  to  include  among  us  all  souls 
who  are  thirsting  after  the  river  of  life,  whatever  their  personal 
views.  I  believe  you  are  partial  to  sacraments  and  ceremonies  ?  " 
Charles  tried  to  cut  short  the  interview  by  denying  that  he  had 
any  religion  to  seek  after,  or  any  decision  to  make ;  but  it  was 
easier  to  end  the  conversation  than  the  visit.  He  threw  himself 
back  in  his  chair  in  despair,  and  half  closed  his  eyes.  "  O,  those 
good  Irvingites,"  he  thought,  "  blameless  men,  who  came  only 
to  protest,  and  vanished  at  the  first  word  of  opposition  ;  but  now 
thrice  has  the  church  clock  struck  the  quarters  since  her  entrance, 
and  I  don't  see  why  she's  not  to  stop  here  as  long  as  it  goes  on» 
striking,  since  she  has  stopped  so  long.     She  has  not  in  her  the 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  233 

elements  of  progress  and  decay.  She'll  never  die ;  what  is  to 
become  of  me  ?  " 

Nor  was  she  doomed  to  find  a  natural  death ;  for,  when  the 
case  seemed  hopeless,  a  noise  was  heard  on  the  staircase,  and, 
with  scarcely  the  apology  for  a  knock,  a  wild  gawky  man  made 
his  appearance,  and  at  once  cried  out,  "  I  hope,  sir,  it's  not  a 
bargain  yet ;  I  hope  it's  not  too  late  ;  discharge  this  young  wo- 
man, Mr.  Reding,  and  let  me  teach  you  the  old  truth,  which 
never  has  been  repealed."  There  was  no  need  of  discharging 
her ;  for  as  kindly  as  she  had  unfolded  her  leaves  and  flourished 
in  the  sun  of  Reding's  forbearance,  so  did  she  at  once  shrink  and 
vanish  —  one  could  hardly  tell  how  —  before  the  rough  accents 
of  the  intruder ;  and  Charles  suddenly  found  himself  in  the 
hands  of  a  new  tormentor.  "  This  is  intolerable,"  he  said  to 
himself;  and  jumping  up,  he  cried,  "  Sir,  excuse  me,  I  am  par- 
ticularly engaged  this  morning,  and  I  must  beg  to  decline  the  favor 
of  your  visit."  "  What  did  you  say,  sir  ?  "  said  the  stranger  ; 
and,  taking  a  note  book  and  a  pencil  from  his  pocket,  he  began 
to  look  up  in  Charles's  face  and  write  down  his  words,  saying 
half  aloud,  as  he  wrote,  "  declines  the  favor  of  my  visit."  Then 
he  looked  up  again,  keeping  his  pencil  upon  his  paper,  and  said, 
"Now,  sir."  Reding  moved  towards  him,  and  spreading  his 
arms  as  one  drives  sheep  and  poultry  in  one  direction,  he 
repeated,  looking  towards  the  door,  "  Really,  sir,  I  feel  the 
honor  of  your  call ;  but  another  day,  sir,  another  day.  It  is  too 
much,  too  much."  "  Too  much  ?  "  said  the  intruder  ;  "  and  I 
waiting  below  so  long  !  That  dainty  lady  has  been  good  part  of  an 
hour  here,  and  now  you  can't  give  me  five  minutes,  sir."  "  Why, 
sir,"  answered  Charles,  "  I  am  sure  you  are  come  on  an  errand 
as  fruitless  as  hers ;  and  I  am  sick  of  these  religious  discussions, 
and  want  to  be  to  myself,  and  to  save  you  trouble."  "  Sick  of 
religious  discussions,"  said  the  stranger  to  himself,  as  he  wrote 
down  the  words  in  his  note  book.  Charles  did  not  deign  to  no- 
tice his  act  or  to  explain  his  own  expression ;  he  stood  prepared 
to  renew  his  action  of  motioning  him  to  the  door.  His  torment- 
or then  said,  "  You  may  like  to  know  my  name  ;  it  is  Zerub- 
babel." 

Vexed  as  Reding  was,  he  felt  that  he  had  no  right  to  visit  the 

tediousness  of  his  former  visitor  upon  his  present ;  so  he  forced 

upon  himself  to  reply,  "  Zerubbabel ;  indeed  ;  and  is  Zerubbabel 

your  Christian  name,  sir,  or  your  surname  ?  "     "  It  is  both  at 

20* 


234  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

once,  Mr.  Reding,"  answered  Zerubbabel,  "  or  rather,  I  have  no 
Christian  name,  and  Zerubbabel  is  my  one  Jewish  designation." 
"  You  are  come,  then,  to  inquire  whether  I  am  hkely  to  become 
a  Jew."  "  Stranger  things  have  happened,"  answered  his  visitor ; 
"  for  instance,  I  myself  was  once  a  deacon  in  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land." "  Then  you  are  not  a  Jew  ?  "  said  Charles.  "  I  am  a 
Jew  by  choice,"  he  said  ;  "  after  much  prayer  and  study  of 
Scripture,  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion,  that,  as  Judaism  was 
the  first  religion,  so  it's  to  be  the  last.  Christianity  I  consider 
an  episode  in  the  history  of  revelation."  "  You  are  not  likely 
to  have  many  followers  in  such  a  belief,"  said  Charles  ;  "  we  are 
all  for  progress  now,  not  for  retrograding."  "  I  differ  from  you, 
Mr.  Reding,"  replied  Zerubbabel ;  "  see  what  the  Establishment 
is  doing ;  it  has  sent  a  Bishop  to  Jerusalem."  "  That  is  rather 
with  a  view  of  making  the  Jews  Christians,  than  the  Christians 
Jews,"  said  Reding.  Zerubbabel  wrote  down  :  "  thinks  Bishop 
of  Jerusalem  is  to  convert  the  Jews  ; "  then,  "  I  differ  from  you, 
sir ;  on  the  contrary,  I  fancy  the  excellent  Bishop  has  in  view 
to  revive  the  distinction  between  Jew  and  Gentile,  which  is  one 
step  towards  the  supremacy  of  the  former;  for  if  the  Jews 
have  a  place  at  all  in  Christianity,«as  Jews,  it  must  be  the  first 
place."  Charles  thought  he  had  better  let  him  have  his  talk  out ; 
so  Zerubbabel  proceeded :  "  The  good  Bishop  in  question  knows 
well  that  the  Jew  is  the  elder  brother  of  the  Gentile,  and  it  is 
his  special  mission  to  restore  a  Jewish  episcopate  to  the  See  of 
Jerusalem.  The  Jewish  succession  has  been  suspended  since  the 
time  of  the  Apostles.  And  now  you  see  the  reason  of  my  call- 
ing on  you,  Mr.  Reding.  It  is  reported  that  you  lean  towards  the 
Catholic  Church  ;  but  I  wish  to  suggest  to  you  that  you  have 
mistaken  the  centre  of  unity.  The  See  of  James  at  Jerusalem 
is  the  true  centre,  not  the  See  of  Peter  at  Rome.  Peter's  power 
is  a  usurpation  on  James's.  I  consider  the  present  Bishop  of  Je- 
rusalem the  true  Pope.  The  Gentiles  have  been  in  power  too 
long  ;  it  is  now  the  Jews'  turn."  "  You  seem  to  allow,"  said 
Charles,  "  that  there  ought  to  be  a  centre  of  unity  and  a  Pope." 
"  Certainly,"  said  Zerubbabel,  "  and  a  ritual  too,  but  it  should  be 
the  Jewish.  I  am  collecting  subscriptions  for  the  rebuilding  of 
the  Temple  on  Mount  Moriah ;  I  hope  too  to  negotiate  a  loan, 
and  we  shall  have  Temple  stock,  yielding,  I  calculate,  at  least 
four  per  cent."  "  It  has  hitherto  been  thought  a  sin,"  said  Re- 
ding, "  to  attempt  rebuilding  the  Temple.     According  to  you. 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  235 

Julian  the  Apostate  went  the  better  way  to  work."  "  His  mo- 
tive was  wrong,  sir,"  answered  the  other ;  "  but  his  act  was  good. 
The  way  to  convert  the  Jews  is,  first  to  accept  their  rites.  This 
is  one  of  the  great  discoveries  of  this  age.  We  must  make  the 
first  step  towards  tltem.  For  myself,  I  have  adopted  all,  which 
the  present  state  of  their  religion  renders  possible.  And  I  don't 
despair  to  see  the  day  when  bloody  sacrifices  will  be  offered  on 
the  Temple  Mount,  as  of  old."  Here  he  came  to  a  pause  ;  and 
Charles  making  no  reply,  he  said  in  a  brisk  offhand  manner, 
"  May  I  not  hope  you  will  give  your  name  to  this  religious  ob- 
ject, and  adopt  the  old  ritual  ?  The  Catholic  is  quite  of  yester- 
day compared  with  it."  Charles  answering  in  the  negative,  Ze- 
rubbabel  wrote  down  in  his  book  :  "  Refuses  to  take  part  in  our 
scheme ;  "  and  disappeared  from  the  room,  as  suddenly  as  he 
entered  it. 


CHAPTER     VIII. 


Charles's  trials  were  not  at  an  end ;  and  we  suspect  the 
reader  will  give  a  shudder  at  the  news,  as  having  a  very  mate- 
rial share  in  the  infliction.  Yet  the  reader's  case  has  this  great 
alleviation,  that  he  takes  up  this  narrative  in  an  idle  hour,  and 
Charles  encountered  the  reality  in  a  very  busy  and  anxious  one. 
So,  however,  it  was  ;  not  any  great  time  elapsed  after  the  retreat 
of  Zerubbabel,  when  his  landlord  again  appeared  at  the  door. 
He  assured  Mr.  Reding  that  it  was  no  fault  of  his  that  the  last 
two  persons  had  called  on  him  ;  that  the  lady  had  slipped  by  him, 
and  the  gentleman  had  forced  his  way  ;  but  that  he  now  really 
did  wish  to  solicit  an  interview  for  a  personage  of  great  literary 
pretensions,  who  sometimes  dealt  with  him,  and  who  had  come 
from  the  West  End  for  the  honor  of  an  interview  Avith  Mr. 
Reding.  Charles  groaned,  but  only  one  reply  was  possible  ;  the 
day  was  already  wasted ;  and  with  a  sort  of  dull  resignation  he 
gave  permission  for  the  introduction  of  the  stranger. 

It  was  a  pasty-faced  man  of  about  thirty-five,  who,  when  he 
spoke,  arched  his  eyebrows,  and  had  a  peculiar  smile.  He  began 
by  expressing  his  apprehension  that  Mr.  Reding  must  have  been 
wearied  by  impertinent  and  unnecessary  visitors  —  visitors  with- 


236  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 

out  intellect,  who  knew  no  better  than  to  obtrude  their  fanati- 
cism on  persons  who  did  but  despise  it.  "  I  know  more  about 
the  Universities,"  he  continued,  "  than  to  suppose  that  any  con- 
geniality can  exist  between  their  members  and  the  mass  of  reli- 
gious sectarians.  You  have  had  very  distinguished  men  among 
you,  sir,  at  Oxford,  of  very  various  schools,  yet  all  able  men,  and 
distinguished  in  the  pursuit  of  Truth,  though  they  have  arrived 
at  contradictory  opinions."  Not  knowing  what  he  was  driving  at, 
Reding  remained  in  an  attitude  of  expectation.  "  I  belong,"  he 
continued,  "  to  a  Society  which  is  devoted  to  the  extension  among 
all  classes  of  the  pursuit  of  Truth.  Any  philosophical  mind, 
Mr.  Reding,  must  have  felt  deep  interest  in  your  own  party  in 
the  University.  Our  Society  in  fact  considers  you  to  be  distin 
guished  Confessors  in  that  all-momentous  occupation;  and  I  have 
thought  I  could  not  pay  yourself  individually,  whose  name  has 
lately  honorably  appeared  in  the  papers,  a  better  compliment 
than  to  get  you  elected  a  member  of  our  Truth  Society.  And 
here  is  your  diploma,"  he  added,  handing  a  sheet  of  paper  to 
him.  Charles  glanced  his  eye  over  it ;  it  was  a  paper,  part  en- 
graving, part  print,  part  manuscript.  4-"  emblem  of  truth  was 
in  the  centre,  represented  not  by  a  radiating  sun  or  star,  as 
might  be  expected,  but  as  the  moon  under  total  eclipse,  sur- 
rounded, as  by  cherub  faces,  by  the  heads  of  Socrates,  Cicero, 
Julian,  Abelard,  Luther,  Benjamin  Franklin,  and  Lord  Brougham. 
Then  followed  some  sentences  to  the  effect,  that  the  London 
.Branch  Association  of  the  British  and  Foreign  Truth  Society, 
having  evidence  of  the  zeal  in  the  pursuit  of  Truth  of  Charles 
Reding,  Esq.,  member  of  Oxford  University,  had  unanimously 
elected  him  into  their  number,  and  had  assigned  him  the  digni- 
fied and  responsible  office  of  associate  and  corresponding  mem- 
ber. "I  thank  the  Truth  Society  very  much,"  said  Charles, 
when  he  got  to  the  end  of  the  paper,  "  for  this  mark  of  their 
good  will ;  yet  I  regret  to  have  scruples  about  accepting  it,  till 
some  of  the  patrons  are  changed,  whose  heads  are  prefixed  to  the 
diploma.  For  instance,  I  do  not  like  to  be  under  the  shadow  of 
the  Emperor  Julian."  "  You  would  respect  his  love  of  Truth,  I 
presume,"  said  Mr.  Batts.  "  Not  much,  I  fear,"  said  Charles, 
"  seeing  it  did  not  hinder  him  from  deliberately  embracing  er- 
ror." "  No,  not  so,"  answered  Mr.  Batts  ;  "  from  embracing  what 
he  thought  Truth  ;  and  Julian,  I  conceive,  cannot  be  said  to  have 
deserted  the  Truth,  bqcause,  in  fact,  he  always  was  in  pursuit  of 


LOSS   AND    GAIN.  237 

it."  "  I  fear,"  said  Reding,  "  there  is  a  very  serious  difference 
between  your  principles  and  my  own  on  this  point."  "  Ah, 
my  dear  sir,  a  little  attention  to  our  principles  will  remove 
it,"  said  Mr.  Batts :  "  let  me  beg  your  acceptance  of  this  lit- 
tle pamphlet,  in  which  you  will  find  some  fundamental  truths 
stated,  almost  in  the  way  of  aphorisms.  I  wish  to  direct  your 
attention  to  page  8,  where  they  are  drawn  out."  Charles  turned 
to  the  page,  and  read  as  follows  :  — 

"  On  the  pursuit  of  Truth,    • 

1.  It  is  uncertain  whether  Truth  exists. 

2.  It  is  certain  that  it  cannot  be  found. 

3.  It  is  a  folly  to  boast  of  possessing  it. 

4.  Man's  work  and  duty,  as  man,  consist,  not  in  possessing, 

but  in  seeking  it. 

5.  His  happiness  and  true  dignity  consist  in  the  pursuit. 

6.  The  pursuit  of  Truth  is  an  end,  to  be  engaged  in  for  its 

own  sake. 

7.  As  philosophy  is  the  love,  not  the  possession,  of  wisdom,  so 

religion  is  the  love,  not  the  possession,  of  Truth. 

8.  As  Catholicism  begins  with  faith,  so  Protestantism  ends 

with  inquiry. 

9.  As  there  is  disinterestedness  in  seeking,  so  is  there  self- 

ishness in  claiming  to  possess. 

10.  The  martyr  of  Truth  is  he  who  dies  professing  that  it  is 

a  shadow. 

11.  A  lifelong  martyrdom  is  this,  to  be  ever  changing. 

12.  The  fear  of  error  is  the  bane  of  inquiry." 

Charles  did  not  get  farther  than  these,  but  others  followed  of 
a  similar  character.  He  returned  the  pamphlet  to  Mr.  Batts. 
"  I  see  enough,"  he  said,  "  of  the  opinions  of  the  Truth  Society, 
to  admire  their  ingenuity  and  originality,  but,  excuse  me,  not  their 
good  sense.  It  is  impossible  I  should  subscribe  to  what  is  so 
plainly  opposed  to  Christianity."  Mr.  Batts  looked  annoyed. 
"  We  have  no  wish  to  oppose  Christianity,"  he  said  ;  "  we  only 
wish  Christianity  not  to  oppose  us.  It  is  very  hard  that  we  may 
not  go  our  own  way,  when  we  are  quite  willing  that  others  should 
go  theirs.  It  seems  imprudent,  I  conceive,  in  this  age,  to  repre- 
sent Christianity  as  hostile  to  the  progress  of  the  mind,  and  to 
turn  into  enemies  of  revelation  those  who  do  sincerely  wish  to 
*  live  and  let  live.'  "     "  But  contradictions  cannot  be  true,"  said 


238  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

Charles :  "  if  Christianity  says  that  Truth  can  be  found,  it  must 
be  an  error  to  state  that  it  cannot  be  found."  "  I  conceive  it  to 
be  intolerant,"  persisted  Mr.  Batts  :  "  you  will  grant,  I  suppose, 
that  Christianity  has  nothing  to  do  with  astronomy  or  geology  : 
why,  then,  should  it  be  allowed  to  interfere  with  philosophy  ?  " 
It  was  useless  proceeding  in  the  discussion  ;  Charles  repressed 
the  answer  which  rose  on  his  tongue,  of  the  essential  connection 
of  philosophy  with  religion  ;  a  silence  ensued  of  several  minutes, 
and  Mr.  Batts  at  length  took  the  hint,  for  he  rose  with  a  disap- 
pointed air,  and  wished  him  good  morning. 

It  mattered  little  now  whether  he  was  left  to  himself  or  not, 
except  that  conversation  harassed  and  fretted  him ;  for,  as  to 
turning  his  mind  to  the  subjects  which  were  to  have  been  his 
occupation  that  morning,  it  was  by  this  time  far  too  much  wearied 
and  dissipated  to  undertake  them.  On  Mr.  Batts's  departure, 
then,  he  did  not  make  the  attempt,  but  sat  before  the  fire,  dull 
and  depressed,  and  in  danger  of  relapsing  into  the  troubled 
thoughts  from  which  his  railroad  companion  had  extricated  him. 
When,  then,  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  a  new  knock  was  heard 
at  the  door,  he  admitted  the  postulant  with  a  calm  indifference, 
as  if  fortune  had  now  done  her  worst,  and  he  had  nothing  to  fear. 
A  middle-aged  man  made  his  appearance,  sleek  and  plump,  who 
seemed  to  be  in  good  circumstances,  and  to  have  profited  by  them. 
His  glossy  black  dress,  in  contrast  with  the  pink  color  of  his  face 
and  throat,  for  he  wore  no  collars,  and  his  staid  and  pompous 
bearing,  added  to  his  rapid  delivery,  when  he  spoke,  gave  him 
much  the  look  of  a  farm-yard  turkey  cock,  in  the  eyes  of  any 
one  who  was  less  disgusted  with  seeing  new  faces  than  Reding 
was  at  that  moment.  The  new  comer  looked  sharply  at  him  as 
he  entered.  "  Your  most  obedient,"  he  said  abruptly ;  "  you 
seem  in  low  spirits,  my  dear  sir ;  but  sit  down,  Mr.  Reding,  and 
give  me  the  opportunity  of  offering  to  you  a  little  good  advice. 
You  may  guess  what  I  am  by  my  appearance  :  I  spealt  for  my- 
self ;  I  will  say  no  more ;  I  can  be  of  use  to  you.  Mr.  Reding," 
he  continued,  pulling  his  chair  towards  him,  and  putting  out  his 
hand  as  if  he  was  going  to  paw  him,  "  have  not  you  made  a 
mistake,  in  thinking  it  necessary  to  go  to  the  Romish  Church  for 
a  relief  of  your  religious  difficulties  ? "  "  You  have  not  yet 
heard  from  me,  sir,"  answered  Charles  gravely,  "  that  I  have  any 
difficulties  at  all.  Excuse  me  if  I  am  abrupt ;  I  have  had  many 
persons  calling  on  me  with  your  errand.  It  is  very  kind  of  you, 
but  I  don't  want  advice  ;  I  was  a  fool  to  come  here."     "  Well, 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  239 

my  dear  Mr.  Reding,  but  listen  to  me,"  answered  his  persecutor, 
spreading  out  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand,  and  opening  his  eyes 
wide ;  "  I  am  right,  I  believe,  in  apprehending  that  your  reason 
for  leaving  the  Establishment  is,  that  you  cannot  carry  out  the 
surplice  in  the  pulpit  and  the  candlesticks  on  the  table.  Now, 
don't  you  do  more  than  you  need.  Pardon  me,  but  you  are  like 
a  person  who  should  turn  the  Thames  in  upon  his  house,  when 
he  merely  wanted  his  doorsteps  scrubbed.  Why  become  a 
convert  to  Popery,  when  you  can  obtain  your  object  in  a  cheaper 
and  better  way?  Set  up  for  yourself,  ray  dear  sir  —  set  up  for 
yourself;  form  a  new  denomination,  sixpence  will  do  it ;  and 
then  you  may  have  your  surplice  and  candlesticks  to  your  heart's 
content,  without  denying  the  gospel,  or  running  into  the  horrible 
abominations  of  the  Scarlet  Woman."  And  he  sat  upright  in 
his  chair,  with  his  hands  fiat  on  his  extended  knees,  watching  with 
a  self-satisfied  air  the  effect  of  his  words  upon  Reding. 

"  I  have  had  enough  of  this,"  said  poor  Charles  ;  "  you,  in- 
deed, are  but  one  of  a  number,  sir,  and  would  say  you  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  rest ;  but  I  cannot  help  regarding  you  as 
the  fifth,  or  sixth,  or  seventh  person  —  I  can't  count  them  — • 
who  has  been  with  me  this  morning,  giving  me,  though  with  the 
best  intentions,  advice  which  has  not  been  asked  for.  I  don't 
know  you,  sir;  you  have  no  introduction  to  me;  you  have  not 
even  told  me  your  name.  It  is  not  usual  to  discourse  on  such 
personal  matters  with  strangers.  Let  me,  then,  thank  you  first 
for  your  kindness  in  coming,  and  next  for  the  additional  kind- 
ness of  going."     And  Charles  rose  up. 

His  visitor  did  not  seem  inclined  to  move,  or  to  notice  what  he 
had  said.  He  stopped  a  while,  opened  his  handkerchief  with 
much  deliberation,  and  blew  his  nose  ;  then  he  continued ; 
"  Kitchens  is  my  name,  sir ;  Dr.  Kitchens  :  your  state  of  mind, 
Mr.  Reding,  is  not  unknown  to  me ;  you  are  at  present  under 
the  influence  of  the  old  Adam,  and  indeed  in  a  melancholy  way. 
I  was  not  unprepared  for  it ;  and  I  have  put  in  my  pocket  a  lit- 
tle tract,  which  I  shall  press  upon  you  with  all  the  Christian 
solicitude  which  brother  can  show  towards  brother.  Here  it  is ; 
I  have  the  greatest  confidence  in  it ;  perhaps  you  have  heard  the 
name  ;  it  is  known  as  Kitchens'  Spiritual  Elixir.  The  Elixir 
has  enlightened  millions  ;  and,  I  will  take  on  me  to  say,  will  con- 
vert you  in  twenty-four  hours.  Its  operation  is  mild  and  pleas- 
urable, and   its   effects    are    marvellous,   prodigious,  though   it 


240  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

does  not  consist  of  more  than  eight  duodecimo  pages.  Here's  a 
list  of  testimonies  to  some  of  the  most  remarkable  cases.  I  have 
known  one  hundred  and  two  cases  myself,  in  which  it  effected  a 
saving  change  in  six  hours  ;  seventy-nine  in  which  its  operations 
took  place  in  as  few  as  three  ;  and  twenty-seven  where  conver- 
sion followed  instantaneously  after  the  perusal.  At  once,  poor 
sinners,  who  five  minutes  before  had  been  like  the  demoniac  in 
the  gospel,  were  seen  sitting  '  clothed,  and  in  their  right  mind.' 
Thus  I  speak  within  the  mark,  Mr.  Reding,  when  I  say  I  will 
warrant  a  change  in  you  in  twenty-four  hours.  I  have  never 
known  but  one  instance  in  which  it  seemed  to  fail,  and  that  was 
the  case  of  a  wretched  old  man,  who  held  it  in  his  hand  a  whole 
day  in  dead  silence,  without  any  apparent  effect ;  but  here  ex- 
ceptio  prohat  regulam,  for  on  further  inquiry  we  found  he  could 
not  read.  So  the  tract  w^as  slowly  administered  to  him  by 
another  person  ;  and  before  it  was  finished,  I  protest  to  you, 
Mr.  Reding,  he  fell  into  a  deep  and  healthy  slumber,  perspired 
profusely,  and  woke  up  at  the  end  of  twelve  hours  a  new  crea- 
ture, perfectly  new,  bran  new,  and  fit  for  Heaven,  whither  he 
went  in  the  course  of  the  week.  We  are  now  making  further 
experiments  on  its  operation,  and  we  find  that  even  separate 
leaves  of  the  tract  have  a  proportionate  effect.  And,  what  is 
more  to  your  own  purpose,  it  is  quite  a  specific  in  the  case  of 
Popery.  It  directly  attacks  the  peccant  matter,  and  all  the  trash 
about  sacraments,  saints,  penance.  Purgatory,  and  good  works 
is  dislodged  from  the  soul  at  once." 

Charles  remained  silent  and  grave,  as  one  who  was  likely 
suddenly  to  break  out  into  some  strong  act,  rather  than  conde- 
scend to  any  further  parleying.  Dr.  Kitchens  proceeded :  "  Have 
you  attended  any  of  the  lectures  delivered  against  the  Mystic 
Babylon,  or  any  of  the  public  disputes  which  have  been  carried 
on  in  so  many  places  ?  My  dear  friend,  Mr.  Makanoise,  con- 
tested ten  points  with  thirty  Jesuits  —  a  good  half  of  the  Jesuits 
in  London  —  and  beat  them  upon  all.  Or  have  you  heard  any 
of  the  luminaries  of  Exeter  Hall  ?  There  is  Mr.  Gabb  ;  he  is 
a  Boanerges,  a  perfect  Niagara,  for  his  torrent  of  words ;  such 
momentum  in  his  delivery  ;  it  is  as  rapid  as  it's  strong ;  it's 
enough  to  knock  a  man  down.  He  can  speak  seven  hours  run- 
ning without  fatigue ;  and  last  year  he  went  through  England, 
delivering  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land,  one,  and 
one  only,  awful  protest  against  the  apocalyptic  witch  of  Endor. 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  211 

fie  bciian  at  Devonport  and  ended  at  Berwick,  and  surpassed 
himself  on  every  delivery.  At  Berwick,  his  last  exhibition,  the 
etfect  was  perfectly  tremendous ;  a  friend  of  mine  heard  it ;  he 
assures  me,  incredible  as  it  may  appear,  that  it  shattered  somo 
glass  in  a  neighboring  house;  and  two  priests  of  Baal,  who 
were  with  their  day  school  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  Mr. 
Gabb,  were  so  damaged  by  the  mere  echo,  that  one  forthwith 
took  to  his  bed,  and  the  other  has  walked  on  crutches  ever 
since."  He  stopped  a  while,  then  he  continued :  "  And  what 
was  it,  do  you  think,  Mr.  Reding,  which  had  this  effect  on  them  ? 
Why,  it  was  Mr.  Gabb's  notion  about  the  sign  of  the  beast  in 
the  Revelation ;  he  proved,  Mr.  Reding  —  it  was  the  most 
original  hit  in  his  speech  —  he  proved  that  it  was  the  sign  of 
the  cross,  the  material  cross." 

The  time  at  length  was  come ;  Reding  could  not  bear  more  ; 
and,  as  it  happened,  his  visitor's  offence  gave  him  the  means,  as 
well  as  a  cause,  for  punishing  him.  "  0,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  then 
I  suppose.  Dr.  Kitchens,  you  can't  tolerate  the  cross  ?  "  "  0,  no  ; 
tolerate  it !  "  answered  Dr.  Kitchens  ;  "  it  is  Antichrist."  "  You 
can't  bear  the  sight  of  it,  I  suspect,  Dr.  Kitchens  ?  "  "I  can't 
endure  it,  sir  ;  what  true  Protestant  can  ?  "  "  Then  look  here," 
said  Charles,  taking  a  small  crucifix  out  of  his  writing  desk  ;  and 
he  held  it  before  Dr.  Kitchens'  face.  Dr.  Kitchens  at  once 
started  on  his  feet,  and  retreated.  "  What's  that  ?  "  he  said, 
and  his  face  flushed  up  and  then  turned  pale  ;  "  what's  that  ? 
it's  the  thing  itself ; "  and  he  made  a  snatch  at  it.  "Take  it 
away,  Mr.  Reding ;  it's  an  idol ;  I  cannot  endure  it ;  take  away 
the  thing."  "  I  declare,"  said  Reding  to  himself,  "  it  really  has 
power  over  him ; "  and  he  still  confronted  it  to  Dr.  Kitchens, 
while  he  kept  it  out  of  Dr.  Kitchens'  reach.  "  Take  it  away, 
Mr.  Reding,  I  beseech  you,"  cried  Dr.  Kitchens,  still  retreating, 
while  Charles  still  pressed  on  him  ;  "  take  it  away,  it's  too 
much.  0,  0  !  Spare  me,  spare  me,  Mr.  Reding!  —  nehushtan 
—  an  idol !  —  O,  you  young  antichrist,  you  devil !  —  'tis  He,  'tis 
He  —  torment !  —  spare  me,  Mr.  Reding."  And  the  miserable 
man  began  to  dance  about,  still  eying  the  sacred  sign,  and  mo- 
tioning it  from  him.  Charles  now  had  victory  in  his  hands : 
tliere  w^as,  indeed,  some  difficulty  in  steering  Dr.  Kitchens  to 
the  door  from  the  place  where  he  had  been  sitting ;  but,  that 
once  effected,  he  opened  it  with  violence,  and  throwing  himself 
on  the  staircase,  he  began  to  jump  down  two  or  three  steps  at  a 
21 


242  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

time,  with  such  forgetfulness  of  every  thing  but  his  own  terror, 
that  he  came  plump  upon  two  persons,  who,  in  rivalry  of  each 
other,  were  in  the  act  of  rushing  up  ;  and  while  he  drove  one 
against  the  rail,  he  fairly  rolled  the  other  to  the  bottom. 


CHAPTER    IX 


Charles  threw  himself  on  his  chair,  burying  the  Crucifix  in 
his  bosom,  quite  worn  out  with  his  long  trial  and  the  sudden  ex- 
ertion in  which  it  had  just  now  been  issuing.  "When  a  noise 
was  heard  at  his  door,  and  knocks  succeeded,  he  took  no  further 
notice  than  to  plant  his  feet  on  the  fender,  and  bury  his  face  in 
his  hands.  The  summons  at  first  was  apparently  from  one  per- 
son only,  but  his  delay  in  answering  it  gave  time  for  the  arrival 
of  another ;  and  there  was  a  brisk  succession  of  alternate  knocks 
from  the  two,  which  Charles  let  take  its  course.  At  length  one 
of  the  rival  candidates  for  admission,  bolder  than  the  other, 
slowly  opened  the  door ;  when  the  other,  who  had  impetuously 
scrambled  up  stairs  after  his  fall,  rushed  in  before  him,  crying 
out,  "  One  word  for  the  New  Jerusalem  !  "  "  In  charity,"  said 
Reding,  without  changing  his  attitude,  "in  charity,  leave  me 
alone.  You  mean  it  well,  but  I  don't  want  you,  sir;  I  don't 
indeed.  I've  had  Old  Jerusalem  here  already,  and  Jewish 
Apostles,  and  Gentile  Apostles,  and  free  inquiry,  and  fancy  re- 
ligion, and  Exeter  Hall.  What  have  I  done  ?  why  can't  I  die 
out  in  peace  ?  My  dear  sir,  do  go  !  I  can't  see  you  ;  I'm  worn 
out."  And  he  rose  up  and  advanced  towards  him.  "  Call  again, 
dear  sir,  if  you  are  bent  on  talking  with  me ;  but,  excuse  me, 
I  really  have  had  enough  of  it  for  one  day.  No  fault  of  yours, 
my  dear  sir,  that  you  have  come  the  sixth  or  seventh."  And 
he  opened  the  door  for  him.  "  A  madman  nearly  threw  me 
down  as  I  was  coming  up,"  said  the  person  addressed,  in  some 
agitation.  "  Ten  thousand  pardons  for  his  rudeness,  my  dear 
sir,  ten  thousand  pardons,  but  allow  me ;  "  and  he  bowed  him 
out  of  the  room.  He  then  turned  round  to  the  other  stranger, 
who  had  stood  by  in  silence  :  "  And  you  too,  sir  —  is  it  possi- 
ble !  "     His  countenance  changed  to  extreme  surprise  ;  it  was 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  2i3 

Mr.  Malcolm.  Charles's  thoughts  flowed  in  a  new  current,  and 
his  tormentors  were  suddenly  forgotten. 

The  history  of  Mr.  Malcolm's  calling  was  simple.  He  had 
always  been  a  collector  of  old  books,  and  had  often  taken  ad- 
vantage of  the  stores  of  Charles's  landlord  in  adding  to  his  libra- 
ry. Passing  through  London  to  the  Eastern  Counties  rail,  he 
happened  to  call  in ;  and  as  the  worthy  bookseller  w^as  not 
behind  his  own  reading  room  in  the  diffusion  of  gossip,  he 
learned  that  Mr.  Reding,  who  was  on  the  point  of  seceding  from 
the  Estabhshment,  was  at  that  moment  above  stairs.  He  waited 
with  impatience  through  Dr.  Kitchens'  visit,  and  even  then 
found  himself,  to  his  no  small  annoyance,  in  danger  of  being 
outstripped  by  the  good  Swedenborgian. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Charles  ?  "  he  said  at  length,  with  not  a  little 
stiffness  in  his  manner,  while  Charles  had  no  less  awkwardness 
in  receiving  him ;  "  you  have  been  holding  a  levee  this  morning  ; 
I  thought  I  should  never  get  to  see  you.  Sit  you  down  ;  let  us  both 
sit  down,  and  let  me  at  last  have  a  word  or  two  with  you."  In  spite 
of  the  diversified  trial  Charles  had  sustained  from  strangers  that 
morning,  there  was  no  one  perhaps  whom  he  would  have  less 
desired  to  see  than  Mr.  Malcolm.  He  could  not  help  associating 
him  with  his  father,  yet  he  felt  no  opening  of  heart  towards  him, 
or  respect  for  his  judgment.  His  feeling  was  a  mixture  of  pre- 
scriptive fear  and  friendliness,  attachment  from  old  associations, 
and  desire  of  standing  well  with  him,  but  neither  confidence  nor 
real  love.  He  colored  up  and  felt  guilty,  yet  without  a  clear 
understanding  why.  "  "Well,  Charles  Reding,"  he  said,  "I  think 
we  know  each  other  well  enough  for  you  to  have  given  me  a 
hint  of  what  was  going  on  as  regards  you."  Charles  said  he 
had  written  to  him  only  the  evening  before.  "  Ah,  when  there 
was  not  time  to  answer  your  letter,"  said  Mr.  Malcolm.  Charles 
said  he  wished  to  spare  so  kind  a  friend  *  *  *  lie  bungled, 
and  could  not  finish  his  sentence.  "  A  friend,  who,  of  course, 
could  give  no  advice,"  said  Mr.  Malcolm,  dryly.  Presently  he 
said,  "  Were  those  people  some  of  your  new  friends  who  were 
calling  on  you?  they  have  kept  me  in  the  shop  this  three 
quarters  of  an  hour ;  and  the  fellow  who  had  just  come  down, 
nearly  threw  me  over  the  baluster."  "  O  no,  sir,  I  know  noth- 
ing of  them ;  they  were  the  most  unwelcome  of  intruders." 
"  As  some  one  else  seems  to  be/'  said  Mr.  Malcolm.     Charles 


244  '  LOSS    AXD    GAIN. 

was  very  much  hurt;  the  more  so,  because  he  had  nothing  to 
say ;  he  kept  silence.  "  Well,  Charles,"  said  Mr.  Malcolm,  not 
looking  at  him,  "I  have  known  you  from  this  high  ;  more,  from 
a  child  in  arms.  A  frank,  open  boy  you  were  ;  I  don't  know 
what  has  spoiled  you.  These  Jesuits,  perhaps.  *  *  *  It 
was  not  so  in  your  flither's  lifetime."  "  My  dear  sir,"  said 
Charles,  "  it  pierces  me  to  the  heart  to  hear  you  talk  so.  You 
have  indeed  always  been  most  kind  to  me.  If  I  have  erred,  it 
has  been  an  error  of  judgment;  and  I  am  very  sorry  for  it,  and 
hope  you  will  forgive  it.  I  acted  for  the  best ;  but  I  have  been, 
as  you  must  feel,  in  a  most  trying  situation.  My  mother  has 
known  what  I  was  contemplating  this  year  past."  "  Trying 
situation !  fudge  !  What  have  you  to  do  with  situations  ?  I 
could  have  told  you  a  great  deal  about  these  Catholics  ;  I  know 
all  about  them.  Error  of  judgment!  don't  tell  me.  I  know 
how  these  things  happen  quite  well.  I  have  seen  such  things 
before  ;  only  I  thought  you  a  more  sensible  fellow.  There  was 
young  Dalton  of  St.  Cross ;  he  goes  abroad,  and  falls  in  with  a 
smooth  priest,  who  persuades  the  silly  fellow  that  the  Catholic 
Church  is  the  ancient  and  true  Church  of  England,  the  only  re- 
ligion for  a  gentleman  ;  he  is  introduced  to  a  Count  this,  and  a 
Marchioness  that,  and  returns  a  Catholic.  There  was  another  ; 
what  was  his  name  ?  I  forget  it,  of  a  Berkshire  family.  He  is 
smitten  with  a  pretty  face  ;  nothing  will  serve  but  he  must 
marry  her ;  but  she's  a  Catholic,  and  can't  marry  a  heretic ;  so 
he,  forsooth,  gives  up  the  favor  of  his  uncle,  and  his  prospects 
in  the  county,  for  his  fair  Juliet.  There  was  another  —  but  it's 
useless  going  on.     And  now  I  wonder  what  has  taken  you." 

All  this  was  the  best  justification  for  Charles's  not  having 
spoken  to  Mr.  Malcolm  on  the  subject.  That  gentleman  had 
had  his  own  experience  of  thirty  or  forty  years,  and,  like  some 
great  philosophers,  he  made  that  personal  experience  of  his  the 
decisive  test  of  the  possible  and  the  true.  "  I  know  them,"  he 
continued  —  "I  know  them  ;  a  set  of  hypocrites  and  sharpers. 
I  could  tell  you  such  stories  of  what  I  fell  in  with  abroad.  Those 
priests  are  not  to  be  trusted.  Did  you  ever  know  a  priest  ? " 
*'  No,"  answered  Charles.  "  Did  you  ever  see  a  Popish  chapel  ? " 
"  No."  "  Do  you  know  any  thing  of  Catholic  books.  Catholic 
doctrine,  Catholic  morality  ?  I  warrant  it,  not  much."  Charles 
looked  very  uncomfortable.      "  Then    what   makes   you    go   to 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  245 

them  ?  "  Charles  did  not  know  what  to  say.  '•  Silly  boy,"  he 
went  on,  "  you  have  not  a  word  to  say  for  yourself;  it's  all  idle 
fancy.     You  are  going  as  a  bird  to  the  fowler." 

Reding  began  to  rouse  himself ;  he  felt  he  ought  to  say  some- 
thing ;  he  felt  that  silence  would  tell  against  him.  "  Dear  sir,'* 
he  answered,  "  there's  nothing  but  may  be  turned  against  one, 
if  a  person  is  so  minded.  Now,  do  think  ;  had  I  known  this  or 
that  priest,  you  would  have  said  at  once,  '  Ah,  he  came  over 
you.*  If  I  had  been  familiar  with  Catholic  Chapels,  '  I  was 
allured  by  the  singing  or  the  incense.'  What  can  I  have  done 
better  than  keep  myself  to  myself,  go  by  my  best  reason,  consult 
the  friends  whom  I  happened  to  find  around  me,  as  I  have  done, 
and  wait  in  patience  till  I  was  sure  of  my  convictions  ?  "  "  Ah, 
that's  the  way  with  you  youngsters,"  said  Mr.  Malcolm ;  "  you 
all  think  you  are  so  right ;  you  do  think  so  admirably,  that  older 
heads  are  worth  nothing  to  the  like  of  you.  Well,"  he  went  on, 
putting  on  his  gloves,  "  I  see  I  am  not  in  the  way  to  persuade 
you.  Poor  dear  Charlie,  I  grieve  for  you  ;  what  would  your 
poor  father  have  said,  had  he  lived  to  see  it  ?  Poor  Reding  ;  he 
has  been  spared  this.  But  perhaps  it  would  not  have  happened. 
I  know  what  the  upshot  will  be;  you  will  come  back — come 
back  you  will,  to  a  dead  certainty.  We  shall  see  you  back, 
foolish  boy,  after  you  have  had  your  gallop  over  your  ploughed 
field.  Well,  well ;  better  than  running  wild.  You  must  have 
your  hobby  ;  it  might  have  been  a  worse ;  you  might  have  run 
through  your  money.  But  perhaps  you'll  be  giving  it  away,  as 
it  is,  to  some  artful  priest.  It's  grievous,  grievous  ;  your  edu- 
cation thrown  away,  your  prospects  ruined,  your  poor  mother 
and  sisters  left  to  take  care  of  themselves.  And  you  don't  say 
a  word  to  me."  And  he  began  musing.  "  A  troublesome  world ; 
good  by,  Charles ;  you  are  high  and  mighty  now,  and  are  in 
full  sail :  you  may  come  to  your  father's  friend  some  day  in  a 
diflferent  temper.  Good  by."  There  was  no  help  for  it ; 
Charles's  heart  was  full,  but  his  head  was  wearied  and  confused, 
and  his  spirit  sunk  :  for  all  these  reasons  he  had  not  a  word  to 
say,  and  seemed  to  Mr.  Malcolm  either  stupid  or  close.  He 
could  but  wring  warmly  Mr.  Malcolm's  reluctant  hand,  and  ac- 
company him  down  to  the  street  door. 
21* 


246  LOSS   AND    GAIN. 


CHAPTER    X. 

"  This  will  never  do,"  said  Charles,  as  he  closed  the  door, 
and  ran  up  stairs ;  "  here  is  a  day  wasted,  worse  than  wasted, 
wasted  partly  on  strangers,  partly  on  friends  ;  and  it's  hard  to 
say  in  which  case  a  more  thorough  waste.  I  ought  to  have  gone 
to  the  Convent  at  once."  The  thought  flashed  into  his  mind, 
and  he  stood  over  the  fire  dwelling  on  it.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I 
will  delay  no  longer.  How  does  time  go  ?  I  declare  it's  four 
o'clock."  He  then  thought  again,  "  I'll  get  over  my  dinner,  and 
then  at  once  betake  myself  to  my  good  Passionists." 

To  the  coffee  house  then  he  went,  and,  as  it  was  some  way  off, 
it  is  not  wonderful  that  it  was  near  six  before  he  arrived  at  the 
Convent.  It  was  a  plain  brick  building ;  money  had  not  been 
so  abundant  as  to  overflow  upon  the  exterior,  after  the  expense 
of  the  interior  had  been  provided  for.  And  it  was  incomplete  ; 
a  large  church  had  been  enclosed,  but  it  was  scarcely  more  than 
a  shell,  — ahars  indeed  had  been  set  up,  but,  for  the  rest,  it  had 
little  more  than  good  proportions,  a  broad  sangtuary,  a  service- 
able organ,  and  an  effective  choir.  There  was  a  range  of  build- 
ings adjacent,  capable  of  holding  about  half  a  dozen  fathers;  but 
the  size  of  the  church  required  a  larger  establishment.  By  this 
time,  doubtless,  things  are  very  different,  but  we  are  looking 
back  at  the  first  efforts  of  the  English  Congregation,  when  it 
bad  scarcely  ceased  to  struggle  for  life,  and  when  friends  and 
members  were  but  beginning  to  flow  in. 

It  was  indeed  but  ten  years,  at  that  time,  since  the  severest 
of  modern  rules  had  been  introduced  into  England.  Two  cen- 
turies after  the  memorable  era  when  St.  Philip  and  St.  Ignatius, 
making  light  of  those  bodily  austerities  of  which  they  were  per- 
sonally so  great  masters,  preached  mortification  of  will  and  reason 
as  more  necessary  for  a  civilized  age,  —  in  the  lukewarm  and 
self-indulgent  eighteenth  century.  Father  Paul  of  the  Cross  was 
divinely  moved  to  found  a  congregation  in  some  respects  more 
ascetic  than  the  primitive  hermits  and  the  orders  of  the  middle 
age.  It  was  not  fast,  or  silence,  or  poverty,  which  distinguished 
it°  though  here  too  it  is  not  wanting  in  strictness  ;  but  in  the 
cell  of  its  venerable  Founder,  on  the  Celian  Hill,  hangs  an  iron 
discipline  or  scourge,  studded  with  nails,  which  is  a  memorial, 
not  only  of  his  own  self-inflicted  sufferings,  but  of  those  of  his 


LOSS    AND    GAIX.  247 

Italian  farnilj.  Their  object  was  as  remarkable  as  their  inten- 
sity ;  penance,  indeed,  is  in  one  respect  the  end  of  all  self- 
chastisement,  but  in  the  instance  of  the  Passionists  the  use  of 
the  scourge  is  specially  directed  to  the  benefit  of  their  neighbor. 
They  apply  the  pain  to  the  benefit  of  the  holy  souls  in  Purga- 
tory, or  they  undergo  it  to  rouse  a  careless  audience.  On  their 
missions,  when  their  words  seem  uttered  in  vain,  they  have 
been  known  suddenly  to  undo  their  habit,  and  to  scourge  them- 
selves with  sharp  knives  or  razors,  crying  out  to  the  horrified 
people,  that  they  would  not  show  mercy  to  their  flesh,  till  they 
whom  they  were  addressing  took  pity  on  their  own  perishing 
souls.  Nor  was  it  to  their  own  countrymen  alone  that  this  self- 
consuming  charity  extended ;  how  it  so  happened  does  not  ap- 
pear ;  perhaps,  a  certain  memento  close  to  their  house  was  the 
earthly  cause  ;  but  so  it  was,  that  for  many  years  the  heart  of 
Father  Paul  was  expanded  towards  a  northern  nation,  with 
which,  humanly  speaking,  he  had  nothing  to  do.  Over  against 
St  John  and  St.  Paul,  the  home  of  the  Passionists  on  the  Celian, 
rises  the  old  church  and  monastery  of  San  Gregorio,  the  womb, 
as  it  may  be  called,  of  English  Christianity.  There  had  lived 
that  great  Pope,  who  is  named  our  Apostle,  who  was  afterwards 
called  to  the  chair  of  St.  Peter ;  and  thence  went  forth,  in  and 
after  his  pontificate,  Augustine,  Paulinus,  Justus,  and  the  other 
Saints  by  whom  our  barbarous  ancestors  were  converted.  Their 
names,  which  are  now  written  up  upon  the  pillars  of  the  portico, 
would  almost  seem  to  have  issued  forth,  and  crossed  over,  and 
confronted  the  venerable  Paul ;  for,  strange  to  say,  the  thought 
of  England  came  into  his  ordinary  prayers;  and  in  his  last 
years,  after  a  vision  during  mass,  as  if  he  had  been  Augustine 
or  MeUitus,  he  talked  of  his  "  sons  "  in  England. 

It  was  strange  enough  that  even  one  Italian  in  the  heart  of 
Rome  should  at  that  time  have  ambitious  thoughts  of  making 
novices  or  converts  in  this  country ;  but,  after  the  venerable 
Founder's  death,  his  special  interest  in  our  distant  isle  showed 
itself  in  another  of  the  same  Religion.  On  the  Apennines,  near 
Viterbo,  there  dwelt  a  shepherd  boy  in  the  first  years  of  this 
century,  whose  mind  had  early  been  dr^wn  heavenward ;  and, 
one  day,  as  he  prayed  before  an  image  of  the  Madonna,  he  felt 
a  vivid  intimation  that  he  was  destined  to  preach  the  Gospel  un- 
der the  northern  sky.  There  appeared  no  means  by  which  a 
Roman  peasant  should  be  turned  into  a  missionary ;  nor  did  the 
prospect  open,  when  this  youth  found  himself,  first  a  lay  brother, 


248  LOSS    AXI)    GAIN. 

then  a  Father,  in  the  Congregation  of  the  Passion.  Yet,  though 
no  external  means  appeared,  the  inward  impression  did  not  fade  ; 
on  the  contrary,  it  became  more  definite,  and  in  process  of  time, 
instead  of  the  dim  north,  England  was  engraven  on  his  heart. 
And,  strange  to  say,  as  years  went  on,  without  his  seeking,  for 
he  was  simply  under  obedience,  our  peasant  found  himself  at 
length  upon  the  very  shore  of  the  stormy  northern  sea,  whence 
Caesar  of  old  looked  out  for  a  new  world  to  conquer ;  yet  that 
he  should  cross  the  strait  was  still  as  little  likely  as  before.  How- 
ever, it  was  as  hkely  as  that  he  should  ever  have  got  so  near  it ; 
and  he  used  to  eye  the  restless,  godless  waves,  and  wonder  with 
himself  whether  the  day  would  ever  come  when  he  should  be 
carried  over  them.  And  come  it  did,  not  however  by  any  deter- 
mination of  his  own,  but  by  the  same  Providence  which  thirty 
years  before  had  given  him  the  anticipation  of  it. ' 

At  the  time  of  our  narrative,  Father  Domenico  de  Matre  Dei 
had  become  familiar  with  England ;  he  had  had  many  anxieties 
here,  first  from  want  of  funds,  then  still  more  from  want  of  men. 
Year  passed  after  year,  and,  whether  fear  of  the  severity  of  the 
i^ule  —  though  that  was  groundless,  for  it  had  been  mitigated  for 
England  —  or  the  claims  of  other  religious  bodies,  was  the  cause, 
his  community  did  not  increase,  and  he  was  tempted  to  despond. 
But  every  work  has  its  season  ;  andiiow  for  some  time  past  that 
difficulty  had  been  gradually  lessening;  various  zealous  men, 
some  of  noble  birth,  others  of  extensive  acquirements,  had  en- 
tered the  Congregation  ;  and  our  friend  Willis,  who  at  this  time 
had  received  the  priesthood,  was  not  the  last  of  these  accessions, 
though  domiciled  at  a  distance  from  London.  And  now  the 
reader  knows  much  more  about  the  Passionists  than  did  Reding 
at  the  time  that  he  made  his  way  to  their  monastery. 

The  church  door  came  first,  and,  as  it  was  open,  he  entered  it. 
It  apparently  was  filling  for  service.  When  he  got  inside,  the 
person  who  immediately  preceded  him  dipped  his  finger  into  a 
vessel  of  water  which  stood  at  the  entrance,  and  offered  it  to 
Charles.  Charles,  ignorant  what  it  meant,  and  awkward  from 
his  consciousness  of  it,  did  nothing  but  shnk  aside,  and  look  for 
some  place  of  refuge ;  ^ut  the  whole  space  was  open,  and  there 
seemed  no  corner  to  retreat  into.  Every  one,  "however,  seemed 
about  his  own  business  ;  no  one*  minded  him,  and  so  far  he  felt 
at  his  ease.  He  stood  near  the  door,  and  began  to  look  about 
him.  A  profusion  of  candles  Avere  lighting  at  the  High  Altar, 
which  stood  in  the  centre  of  a  semicircular  apse.     There  were 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  249 

side  altars — perhaps  half  a  dozen;  most  of  them  without  lights, 
but,  even  here,  solitary  worshippers  might  be  seen.  Over  one 
was  a  large  old  Crucitix  with  a  lamp,  and  this  had  a  successioa 
of  visitors.  They  came  each  for  five  minutes,  said  some  prayers 
which  were  attached  in  a  glazed  frame  to  the  rail,  and  passed 
away.  At  another,  which  was  in  a  chapel  at  the  farther  end  of 
one  of  the  aisles,  six  long  candles  were  burning,  and  over  it  was 
an  image.  On  looking  attentively,  Charles  made  out  at  last  that 
it  was  an  image  of  Our  Lady,  and  the  Child  held  out  a  rosary. 
Here  a  congregation  had  already  assembled,  or  rather  was  in  the 
middle  of  some  service,  to  him  unknown.  It  was  rapid,  alternate, 
and  monotonous  ;  and,  as  it  seemed  interminable.  Reding  turned 
his  eyes  elsewhere.  They  fell  first  on  one,  then  on  another  con- 
fessional, round  each  of  which  was  a  little  crowd,  kneeling,  wait- 
ing every  one  his  own  turn  for  presenting  himself  for  the  sacra- 
ment —  the  men  on  the  cTne  side,  the  women  on  the  other.  At 
the  lower  end  of  the  church  were  about  three  ranges  of  movable 
benches  with  backs  and  kneelers ;  the  rest  of  the  large  space 
was  open  and  filled  with  chairs.  The  growing  object  of  attention 
at  present  was  the  High  Altar ;  and  each  person,  as  he  entered, 
took  a  chair,  and  kneeling  down  behind  it,  began  his  prayers. 
At  length  the  church  got  very  full ;  rich  and  poor  were  mixed 
together  —  artisans,  well-dressed  youths,  Irish  laborers,  mothers 
with  two  or  three  children  —  the  only  division  being  that  of  men 
from  women.  A  set  of  boys  and  children,  mixed  with  some  old 
crones,  had  got  possession  of  the  altar  rail,  and  were  hugging  it 
with  restless  motions,  as  if  in  expectation. 

Though  Reding  had  continued  standing,  no  one  would  have 
noticed  him  ;  but  he  saw  the  time  was  come  for  him  to  kneel,  and 
accordingly  he  moved  into  a  corner  seat  on  the  bench  nearest 
him.  He  had  hardly  done  so,  when  a  procession  with  lights 
passed  from  the  sacristy  to  the  altar ;  something  went  on  which 
he  did  not  understand,  and  then  suddenly  began  what,  by  the 
Miserere  and  Ora  pro  nobis,  he  perceived  to  be  a  litany ;  a  hymn 
followed.  Reding  thought  he  never  had  been  present  at  worship 
before,  so  absorbed  was  the  attention,  so  intense  was  the  devotion 
of  the  congregation.  "What  particularly  struck  him  was,  that 
whereas  in  the  Church  of  England  the  clergyman  or  the  organ 
was  every  thing  and  the  people  nothing,  except  so  far  as  the  clerk 
is  their  representati\e,  here  it  was  just  reversed.  The  priest 
hardly  spoke,  or  at  least  audibly ;  but  the  whole  congregation 
was  as  though  one  vast  instrument  or   Fanharmonicon,  moving 


250  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

all  together,  and,  what  was  most  remarkable,  as  if  self-moved. 
They  did  not  seem  to  require  any  one  to  prompt  or  direct  them, 
though  in  the  Litany  the  choir  took  the  alternate  parts.  The 
words  were  Latin,  but  every  one  seemed  to  understand  them 
thoroughly,  and  to  be  offering  up  his  prayers  to  the  Blessed 
Trinity,  and  the  Incarnate  Savior,  and  the  great  Mother  of  God, 
and  the  glorified  Saints,  with  hearts  full  in  proportion  to  the  en- 
ergy of  the  sounds  they  uttered.  There  was  a  little  boy  near 
him,  and  a  poor  woman,  singing  at  the  pitch  of  their  voices. 
There  was  no  mistaking  it  ;  Reding  said  to  himself,  "  This  is  a 
popular  religion."  He  looked  round  at  the  building  ;  it  was,  as 
we  have  said,  very  plain,  and  bore  the  marks  of  being  unfinished  ; 
but  the  Living  Temple  which  was  manifested  in  it  needed  no 
curious  carving  or  rich  marble  to  complete  it,  "for  the  glory  of 
God  had  enlightened  it,  and  the  Lamb  was  the  lamp  thereof." 
"  How  wonderful,"  said  Charles  to  himself,  "  that  people  call  this 
worship  formal  and  external ;  it  seems  to  possess  all  classes, 
young  and  old,  polished  and  vulgar,  men  and  women  indiscrim- 
inately ;  it  is  the  working  of  one  Spirit  in  all,  making  many  one." 

While  he  was  thus  thinking,  a  change  came  over  the  worship. 
A  priest,  or  at  least  an  assistant,  had  mounted  for  a  moment  above 
the  altar,  and  removed  a  chalice  or  vessel  which  stood  there  ;  he 
could  not  see  distinctly.  A  cloud  of  incense  was  rising  on  high  ; 
the  people  suddenly  all  bowed  low ;  what  could  it  mean  ?  the 
truth  flashed  on  him,  fearfully  yet  sweetly ;  it  was  the  Blessed 
Sacrament  —  it  was  the  Lord  Licarnate  who  was  on  the  altar, 
who  had  come  to  visit  and  to  bless  His  people.  It  was  the  Great 
Presence,  which  makes  a  Catholic  Church  different  from  every 
other  place  in  the  world ;  which  makes  it  as  no  other  place  can 
be,  holy.  The  Breviary  offices  were  by  this  time  not  unknown 
to  Reding ;  and  as  he  threw  himself  on  the  pavement,  in  sudden 
self-abasement  and  joy,  some  words  of  those  great  Antiphons 
came  into  his  mouth,  from  which  Willis  had  formerly  quoted : 
"O  Adonai,  et  Dux  domus  Israel,  qui  Moysi  in  rubo  apparuisti; 
O  Emmanuel,  Exspectatio  Gentium  et  Salvator  earum,  veni  ad 
salvandum  nos,  Domine  Deus  noster." 

The  function  did  not  last  very  long  after  this  ;  Reding,  on 
looking  up,  found  the  congregation  rapidly  diminishing^  and  the 
lights  in  course  of  extinction.  He  saw  he  must  be  quick  in  his 
motions.  He  made  his  way  to  a  lay  brother,  who  was  waiting 
till  the  doors  could  be  closed,  and  begged  to  be  conducted  to  the 
Superior.     The  lay  brother  feared  he  might  be  busy  at  the  mo- 


LOSS    AND    GAIN.  ^5l 

ment,  but  conducted  him  through  the  sacristy  to  a  small  neat 
room,  where,  being  left  to  himself,  he  had  time  to  collect  his 
thoughts.  At  length  the  Superior  appeared  ;  he  was  a  man  past 
the  middle  age,  and  had  a  grave  jet  familiar  manner.  Charles's 
feelings  were  indescribable,  but  all  pleasurable.  His  heart  beat, 
not  with  fear  or  anxiety,  but  from  the  thrill  of  delight  with  which 
he  realized  that  he  was  beneath  the  shadow  of  a  Catholic  com- 
munity, and  face  to  face  with  one  of  its  priests.  His  trouble 
went  in  a  moment,  and  he  could  have  laughed  for  joy.  He  could 
hardly  keep  his  countenance,  and  almost  feared  to  be  taken  for  a 
fool.  He  presented  the  card  of  his  railroad  companion.  The 
good  Father  smiled  when  he  saw  the  name,  nor  did  the  few 
words  which  were  written  w^ith  pencil  on  the  card  diminish  his 
satisfaction.  Charles  and  he  soon  came  to  an  understanding  ; 
he  found  himself  already  known  in  the  community  by  means  of 
Willis ;  and  it  was  arranged  that  he  should  take  up  his  lodging 
with  his  new  friends  forthwith,  and  remain  there  as  long  as  it 
suited  him.  He  was  to  prepare  for  confession  at  once ;  and  it 
was  hoped  that  on  the  following  Sunday  he  might  be  received 
into  Catholic  communion.  After  that,  he  was,  at  a  convenient 
interval,  to  present  himself  to  the  Bishop,  from  whom  he  would 
seek  the  sacramatit  of  confirmation.  Kot  much  time  was  neces- 
sary for  removing  his  luggage  from  his  lodgings  ;  and  in  the 
course  of  an  hour,  from  the  time  of  his  interview  with  Father 
Superior,  he  was  sitting  by  himself,  with  pen  and  paper  and  his 
books,  and  with  a  cheerful  fire,  in  a  small  cell  of  his  new  home. 


CHAPTER    XI 


A  VERY  few  words  will  conduct  us  to  the  end  of  our  history. 
It  was  Sunday  morning  about  seven  o'clock,  and  Charles  had 
been  admitted  into  the  communion  of  the  Catholic  Church  about 
an  hour  since.  He  was  still  kneeling  in  the  church  of  the  Pas- 
sionists  before  the  Tabernacle,  in  the  possession  of  a  deep  peace 
and  serenity  of  mind,  which  he  had  not  thought  possible  on  earth. 
It  was  more  like  the  stillness  which  almost  sensibly  affects  the 
ears,  when  a  bell  which  had  long  been  tolling  stops,  or  when  a 
vessel,  after  much  tossing  at  sea,  finds  itself  in  harbor.     It  was 


252  LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

such  as  to  throw  him  back  in  ntemorj  on  his  earliest  years,  as  if 
he  were  really  beginning  life  again.  But  there  was  more  than 
the  happiness  of  childhood  in  his  heart ;  he  seemed  to  feel  a  rock 
under  his  feet ;  it  was  the  soliditas  Cathedrce  Petri.  He  went 
on  kneehng,  as  if  he  were  already  in  Heaven,  with  the  throne 
of  God  before  him,  and  Angels  around ;  and  as  if  to  move  were 
to  lose  his  privilege. 

At  length  he  felt  a  light  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  a  voice 
said,  "  Reding,  I  am  going  ;  let  me  just  say  farewell  to  you  before 
I  go."  He  looked  around ;  it  was  Willis,  or  rather  Father  Aloy- 
sius,  in  his  dark  Passionist  habit,  with  the  white  heart  sewed  in 
at  his  left  breast.  "Willis  carried  him  from  the  church  into  the 
sacristy.  "  What  a  joy.  Reding  !  "  he  said,  when  the  door  closed 
upon  them ;  "  what  a  day  of  joy !  St.  Edward's  day,  a  doubly 
blessed  day  henceforth.  My  Superior  let  me  be  present ;  but 
now  I  must  go.  You  did  not  see  me,  but  I  was  present  through 
the  whole."  "  0,"  said  Charles,  "  what  shall  I  say  ?  —  the  Face 
of  God  !  As  I  knelt,  I  seemed  (o  wish  to  say  this,  and  this  only, 
with  the  Patriarch,  '  Now  let  me  die,  since  I  have  seen  thy  Face.'  " 
"You,  dear  Reding,"  said  Father  Aloysius,  "have  keen  fresh 
feelings ;  mine  are  blunted  by  familiarity."  "  No,  Willis,"  he 
made  answer,  "  you  have  taken  the  better  part  betimes,  while  I 
have  loitered.  Too  late  have  I  known  Thee,  O  Thou  ancient 
Truth;  too  late  have  I  found  Thee,  first  and  only  Fair."  "All 
is  well,  except  as  sin  makes  it  ill,"  said  Father  Aloysius ;  "  if 
you  have  to  lament  loss  of  time  before  conversion,  I  have  to 
lament  it  after.  If  you  speak  of  delay,  must  not  I  of  rashness? 
A  good  God  overrules  all  things.  But  I  must  away.  Do  you 
recollect  ray  last  words  when  we  parted  in  Devonshire  ?  I  have 
thought  of  them  often  since ;  they  were  too  true  then.     I  said, 

*  Our  ways  divide.'  They  are  different  still,  yet  they  are  the 
same.  Whether  we  shall  meet  again  here  below,  who  knows  ? 
but  there  will  be  a  meeting  ere  long  before  the  Throne  of  God, 
and  under  the  shadow  of  His  Blessed  Mother  and  all  Saints. 

*  Deus  manifeste  veniet,  Deus  noster,  et  non  silebit.'  "  Reding 
took  Father  Aloysius'  hand,  and  kissed  it ;  as  he  sank  on  his 
knees,  the  young  priest  made  the  sign  of  blessing  over  him. 
Then  he  vanished  through  the  door  of  the  sacristy ;  and  the  new 
convert  sought  his  temporary  cell,  so  happy  in  the  Prcri-'^nt,  that 
he  had  no  thou^ts  either  for  the  Past  or  the  Future. 


I 


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